We Are Right
by MystryGAB
Summary: Takes place following "Out Of The Chute." Who was right and who was wrong is as convoluted as what was right and wrong in the first place.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters of House and Cuddy are not owned by me, but borrowed for the purposes of the story.

WE ARE RIGHT

"My damaged, depressed, drug-addled judgment is still better than yours or any other doctor's in this hospital."

The words reverberated in her mind. He had been right. Of course he was right. The hospital was still abuzz with news of his brilliant procedure. Blowing up a heart! It was a ridiculously dangerous idea, and yet it had been so right. It was classic Gregory House. These kinds of crazy, dangerous, brilliant ideas were what made him the most well respected diagnostician in the United States, and possibly the world. It was the reason she'd always admired and respected him, why she advocated and sided with him in spite of his tendency to alienate staff, colleagues and his own patients.

And she had questioned his abilities because he was on drugs. What an idiot!

Cuddy rested her elbows on her desk and let her face fall into the palms of her hands, guilt and frustration pouring over her. She should have known. He had been going by the book with the patient, testing ideas and diagnosis and finally came up with exactly what was required to treat him. He had been doing his thing, just like he always did. Through pain, heartache, shock, tragedy, even detoxing, he always managed to solve the puzzle. Did it matter that he'd been doing it on drugs again? Hell, he'd become renowned for his talent and skill when he was on drugs. So, what if he'd been clean for almost two years.

People may hate him and think he's the biggest jerk alive, but they respected his skill. Medical students, interns and doctors around the world wanted to learn from him. Why? Because he is amazing.

He was right, even on drugs he was the best doctor in the hospital, one of the greatest medical minds of our time. The drugs didn't change that. If anything, they just freed him up to think more clearly, an ironic thought since narcotics usually dulled your brain. But House dealt with the distraction of pain on a daily basis. The drugs dulled that pain so he could focus on the issue at hand, the drugs weren't a handicap, they…

Cuddy's head jerked up from her thoughts and she quickly turned her chair around and stared out the window of her office, facing away from the busy halls of the clinic. "…drug-addled brain is still better than yours …" she heard his voice again. He was so angry, so controlled, so hurt…so right. Her eyes filled with tears. He was right.

He'd been clean for over two years. She knew he still hurt; his pain was chronic, only managed, not cured. She'd been with him in the mornings when he fought with the pain in his leg, slowly stretching and working out the cramps so that he would begin to move easier. It took his toll on him. He was tired. Every day he fought pain, and he had been fighting it with Ibuprofen and determination alone…and for a time hope. She'd taken that from him.

His pain was a constant that was a part of every minute of every day. Yet he'd spent all these months not once complaining about it, sneaking drugs or manipulating. He just dealt with it, trying to maintain that tedious balance, working every angle he knew to ensure nothing would tip the scales. Her fear tipped that scale. Once again, she was the cause of his pain.

"I'll hurt you again," he had told her. She'd assured him she didn't want him to change. He hadn't really believed her; she knew that. Still, he wanted to be with her. He'd wanted her as desperately as she wanted him, but he'd been so afraid he would mess up, so afraid she'd remember he was a jerk and leave him. He didn't give in to those fears and numb them with drugs. She'd watched him work for distractions, taking her on dates, stealing those silly toys from patients room and flowers from the lobby, secretly stalking her, and even working hard to bond with Rachel. He was easing his fears through acts of love and commitment, as strange and distorted, as they sometimes seemed.

He had stayed clean; he had focused on her, on their happiness because those fears made his pain a little worse and he couldn't deal with any more pain. He dealt with enough physical pain; he couldn't deal with any more.

A tear rolled down her face as Cuddy suddenly began to understand. Every "failure" to step up was not a failure at all, but another weight that tipped the scale of pain. He was faced with an emotional situation that created fear in him, and nothing is more painful to House than fear. For most people that pain would be tolerable, but for House a man already tired and straining under the weight of a managed pain, it was just enough to throw him. How many times had another weight been added and he'd staggered, but not fallen?

"I'll always choose you," he'd said. Those words still haunted her. He hadn't made it to her award ceremony, but she'd understood. He'd lost a patient. As much as he pretended these things didn't bother him, they did. Losing a patient hurt him more than he let on. And the loss weighed heavy on him. Yet, he hadn't fallen. He'd staggered into a bar and felt sorry for himself. He's fallen into self-pity and self-doubt as his mind had sorted through the facts. She hadn't been mad that he'd missed the ceremony; she'd been furious that he'd not let her be there for him in his pain. She wanted to share his life, his burdens. She wanted to share the load. But he crawled into his cave and got drunk, ignoring her calls. She'd been so hurt and betrayed. Then he'd shown up at her door, soaked and trembling, eyes moist with tears that still hadn't found the freedom to be shed.

"My God, I'm an idiot," she muttered as the pieces came together in her mind, forming a new picture much different than the one she'd painted the past two weeks.

She'd come to his apartment that night and told him he was trying not to feel pain, as if he was running like a coward and would be incapable to really be there for her. She said he'd never really opened up to her, but that night standing before her soaked, cold and more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him, he'd shared everything. He'd admitted his fears: "Being with you makes me a crappy doctor." Even now those words made her cringe. She'd been upset that he felt that way; that he felt he had to choose between happiness and his gift. What he was really admitting is his fears were taking him over. He was afraid of losing her and afraid of losing his gift, afraid they couldn't co-exist and he'd have to choose. Yet, he was trying to keep those scales balanced – he would make the decision so that he wouldn't feel the fear so much. He chose her. He could put those fears aside. He would only need to deal with the leg pain. He didn't have to take on the weight of those fears. He had her.

He'd chosen her. He'd shared his heart, his fears and his burdens with her that night. Yes, he was drunk, but he was speaking with the clarity of a man who was desperate not to drown again in a darkness that was more painful than he could bear.

"Don't…don't do this," he'd begged as she caressed his face. She'd told him she couldn't do it. He'd been fighting his demons for her, for them, and she'd been oblivious that the war was even going on. She'd only felt the pain of being alone when she most needed him. She'd accused him of being "stoned" and not present even though he was physically there for her. He'd followed her, had his team follow her, tapped into her computer, checked in with Wilson… He'd been ruthless in his pursuit to stay on top of her condition and encourage her in his sarcastic, idiotic way. She'd seen it as deflecting and being afraid. Could it have been much deeper? Was he fighting to maintain that delicate balance so that he could be there for her? Was he being there the only way he could while he sought answers on how to keep from giving into the pain that was overwhelming him?

He'd chosen her above the only thing that had ever mattered to him: his gift. Was the pain of losing her too overwhelming? He was lost and confused on how to maintain his equilibrium and show her the support she needed. His forte was never emotional support, so that would have scared him, enough. But it was more than fear of not being there for her. It was fear of not being enough for her, not being able to save her, of a life without her, a life where his gift wouldn't be able to save him. He'd chosen her.

She was startled from her reverie when Wilson came through the door, distressed and obviously exhausted.

"Here are the reports you need for your meeting tomorrow." He laid them on her desk and turned to leave.

"Wilson," she called to stop him from leaving. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged. "I'm fine." He turned to look at her. He saw her eyes were red and her face blotched. She'd been crying. He didn't think he could do this any more. He couldn't stop the pain in either of his friends. They were dealing with it in completely different ways, but they were both dying inside. House, through drugs and a complete downward spiral; Cuddy in her wall of control and determination not to think about it at all. Neither one of them were succeeding. They were both falling apart. He was too.

"I can't do this, Cuddy." He whispered, "I can't do this." He bowed his head in defeat.

"What's happened?" She came around her desk to face him.

"You've obviously been crying," he answered. "You need my support, but I don't know how to help you anymore than I can help House."

"What's happened?" she repeated. Wilson shook his head, refusing to answer.

"You just need to deal with your pain the best you can and try to move on," he commanded, disregarding her question. "You've made your decision, and I understand – I do – but I've got all I can handle right now with House and I can't be the friend you need right now. God knows I want to. You're my friend too, and I want to be, but…"

The stress in his voice was palpable as he shook his head.

"Take care of yourself," he whispered and turned to leave

.

"Wilson!" She called. "Talk to me!"

"Cuddy, I can't," he answered. "You said you couldn't help him. I understand. You need to do what you need to do, and I am always your friend, but House…"

"Wilson," Cuddy grasped him by the shoulders, silently commanding him to look at her. "What's happened with House?" Wilson just stared at her.

"He did something amazing yesterday. He solved his case, he proved his genius, he proved he was right. He's the talk of the hospital. He was right and proved me an idiot. That's got to make him feel good."

Wilson shrugged off her hands and stared blankly at her. "He doesn't feel anything."

Cuddy looked at him confused. "You already know he's been fighting to feel again. You know he's searching for something to fill that hole. Well, solving his puzzle and proving his genius didn't even create a spark. He's completely dead inside." He ran his hand through his hair and rested his palm on the back of his neck. "Last night he jumped from a 10 story balcony into a swimming pool. He spent the night partying with college kids and taking every crazy dare they offered in the hopes that something would make him feel alive again."

He looked at her in desperation. "I'm losing him. He's falling off that cliff and I have no rope to hold him. Even if I did, he has no strength left to hold onto it."

The tears welled up in Cuddy's eyes and she couldn't stop herself from hugging him. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she held him tight. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," he comforted her. "You had to do what was right for you; I get that."

"No," she shook her head and she held him tighter. "I really screwed up. I really messed up, Wilson."

Wilson froze. She couldn't mean what he thought she meant. Not after all that had happened, not after...

He gently pushed her away. "Don't, Cuddy," he spoke more firmly than he had since entering her office. "Whatever guilt you're feeling, whatever is causing this second-guessing, just stop. You'd better be 100% certain that you will stick around and fight for him no matter what he does, or what he says, or what destruction he brings on you and even Rachel…You've got to be so committed that nothing could make you walk away. If you're not that confident, then keep your distance."

Wilson waited for her to look at him, waited for her stunned eyes to reach his. "Cuddy," he urged her. "He's barely hanging on here. If you only "try" again, it won't just mean another fail for him…it will kill him."

H H H H H H H H

Cuddy was just going through the motions. Ever since Wilson had left her office, she'd been considering his words. He'd scared her. She didn't want to hurt House anymore. He was already damaged, broken. Dammit! So was she. But she didn't want to destroy him. But, how could she go on this way? How could she let him go on this way?

God, she remembered what it was like to watch him breakdown in her office, suddenly realizing his hallucination wasn't real. To realize he'd been falling apart and she'd missed all of the signs; she hadn't been there. She remembered when Wilson took him to Mayfield and how hard he'd tried to be a better man when he returned. She'd been scared. She didn't want to be the one that caused his breakdown. She didn't want him to want her if that's what happened. She had spent so long loving him, and to find that their love might actually be damaging to him…she made certain that wouldn't happen.

She'd determined to start another life and keep House on the periphery. She buried herself in her work, in a loveless, convenient relationship and had avoided as many antics with House as she could. That wasn't easy. He was always there…hovering, giving her an ear when she was frustrated, advice when she needed it, a laugh when she was ready to break, and yes, even a boost of confidence when she was starting to feel more a bitch and less a woman. And he did it all under the radar. It was always so subtle. He would be in elevator just when she was entering, in the cafeteria just when she went for lunch, need a consult at just the right time, even show up in the stairwell when she was hiding. He always knew when she needed him and was there. Why had she never thought of that? It wasn't like a lover, or even a friend, would expect. He'd always deflect and pretend he was there solely for selfish reasons. He'd say those brutally honest things that made you want to hit him, but in the end he helped her. He always helped.

Cuddy smiled. Just being with the pain in the ass helped her. Life was better with him, even when it was pretty bad. At least it was before he started trying to change. She'd told him she didn't want him to change, but that's exactly what he'd been trying to do. He'd been trying to change for her. She'd felt it. She'd been afraid of it. She'd tried to stop it, hadn't she? Had she?

Looking back, she'd actually just tried to control it. She'd treated her relationship like she would the hospital. She'd taken charge, followed rules and checked off lists. What she hadn't done is made him feel safe, safe in her love, safe in her commitment. Maybe he'd been right to be afraid. They'd both been afraid.

"You run from what you want, and have no idea what you need," he'd once told her. She always remembered what he said, carried his words with her. His words haunted her as much as they helped her. It turns out he was right again. She ran at the first sign of failure, the first sign of trouble. Why? Because she really had no idea what she needed. Even with the newfound understanding that House had actually been there for her, she had to admit her decision made no sense. How was being alone all of the time better than being alone a few times? How was him not being there for her any worse than her not being there for him? How was his running from fear any worse than her daily dash into control and denial?

Cuddy looked out the glass wall of her office and spotted House. He was signing out at the desk. He was tired. She saw it in his eyes, in his stance; in the way he leaned so heavy on his cane. He didn't look her way.

Her heart broke. There was a time he'd always looked her way, he'd always monitored her location, checked her office. He was always so aware of her every move. Was he still? Did he not need to look? She was an idiot to hope.

She watched him walk toward the doors, his limp more pronounced, his pain evident to anyone who cared to notice. He was an expert at alienation, which ensured people wouldn't notice. They wouldn't care. But she cared. She more than cared. She…

She had to talk to him.

H H H H H H H H H H

"House!"

He heard her voice and the click of her heals behind him. He tried to ignore her, focusing on clicking his cane to the side of his motorcycle and strapping his bag to the back.

"House!" she called again.

He continued to ignore her. He'd been ignoring her for days. Well, not really. He'd been trying to get her to stop ignoring him. He'd been baiting her, pulling stunts around the hospital geared to raise her ire, to make her angry, to make her see him. She was so controlled and he was so out-of-control. He was dying inside and she was rebounding. He wanted her to hurt like him. He wanted her to care. He wanted her to miss him as much as he missed her. He wanted her to stay away. Hell, he didn't know what he wanted. He wanted to feel something besides hurt.

She was beside him now as he turned to get on his bike, and she blocked him. "We need to talk."

He tilted his head dramatically as if considering her words. "No," he quipped. "I don't think so."

She breathed deep. "Yes, we do."

"You want to thank me for putting the hospital back on top with my mad doctor skills," he quipped. "You want to validate me, and encourage me like a great administrator should. No problem. Rake in the money. I'm glad I can do something right. Just don't expect me to entertain any of your pathetic donors, take on any additional clinic hours or teach any more young doctors – unless they're twenty-five with perky breasts and are in it for the naked biology – in that case I'm all in. Otherwise, this is all you get. I treat my patients and I'm done."

He squeezed between her and the bike, pushing her aside as he straddled the seat of his motorcycle.

"This isn't about the hospital," she asserted.

"Then we have nothing to talk about." He still didn't look at her, but went to start the engine until her hand on his arm halted him.

"You do a lot right," she whispered. In everything he'd said, she'd latched on to that one statement. Of course! This was Cuddy. "You were right."

House gulped. He felt a jolt of current shoot through him from her touch, and a sudden rise of emotion at her words. Right? He wanted to be right, but right about what? About the patient? She said it wasn't about the hospital. So, what was he right about? He wanted to turn away, to be angry, to drown in the bitterness and hate that was somewhere in this shell of a man he'd become. God, he was tired! And here she was giving him a puzzle. What the hell was she talking about?

Cuddy came in closer to him and he felt her eyes on him, pleading with him. He tried to pull up the memory of her leaving him, tried to tap into the onslaught of emotions from that night. He tried to find it in him to push her away, but instead he was drawn to her. He was a pathetic moth being drawn to his death from the flame of Lisa Cuddy. He hated that! He hated his weakness.

Powerless to stop himself, he looked into her eyes, searching them.

"I was wrong." Her voice was shaky, as if she was barely holding on to her emotions, and her eyes were pleading with him. "You were right, House," this time her voice was a little stronger. "Please talk to me. At least hear me out."

There's no way she was talking about breaking up with him. She was right about that. Even he could see that. He hated it, hated himself. He was so tired, so weary of it all. His leg was hurting. He could always count on that pain when he felt nothing else! But he was feeling something else. For the first time since he'd sat on his bathroom floor and downed those vicodin, he was feeling. She did that to him. With a simple touch, a look in her eyes and a few whispered words, she brought him to life…and that made him angry. It made him want to lash out. It made him want to hang on. It made him want to run.

"Get on," he demanded.

Cuddy stared at him. She'd seen something spark in his eyes, felt something shift between them, but she didn't know what it meant. What was he saying?

"I'm leaving, Cuddy." His voice was gruff and commanding. "You can come with me and talk, or you can stay here. It's your choice."

She hadn't expected this. She didn't know what she expected. She couldn't go with him. It would be foolish. She couldn't gauge his feelings, his intent. She couldn't guess at his mindset. She would never be able to control the conversation, the situation. She wouldn't…

The engine started and she knew he wasn't bluffing. He was going to leave, and with it her only chance…Her only chance to what? At what? Cuddy didn't know what she was doing. She was afraid. She'd be crazy to trust him, to trust this.

She was crazy, she thought, as she climbed on the back of the bike, taking the helmet from him. She was jumping into the dark without a parachute, without a plan, without logic. Her heart began to beat and she felt the anxiety build, but in that moment she'd made a decision. Cuddy slipped her arms around his waist and held on tight. House was in the drivers seat.


	2. Chapter 2

Cuddy held on tight as they sped through the streets of the city. She had no idea where House was taking her. She had no idea what would happen when they arrived at their destination. She only knew she needed this. She needed to take this chance, whatever it brought.

All the months they'd dated, she'd never been on the back of his bike. This was his preferred mode of transportation, it was one of his passions, and she'd never been on it. It suddenly struck her how self-absorbed she'd been throughout their relationship. She'd accused him of being selfish and self-centered, but what about her?

She could feel the tension begin to ease from him as he increased speed down a country road. The wind was powerful against them, and it felt freeing. She felt her cares fall behind them as they raced away, and she felt daring. She imagined what they looked like, him the scruffy rogue in the leather jacket and her still in skirt and blouse that revealed way too much as she straddled the seat and the wind whipped around her. She suddenly laughed and held him close. For this moment, this very brief moment in time, she allowed herself to only be in the now. She wouldn't worry about what she'd say when they stopped, or how he would react. She wouldn't be concerned with where they were going or what the future held. For this moment, she was going to enjoy the ride.

They rode for almost an hour. Cuddy had recognized some of the landmarks and understood he was making a large circle, needing the time to sort through his thoughts, to release some of the stress. She'd needed it, too. But now, as he turned down a dirt road and into the woods, she felt the tension rise. She didn't know where they were, but she knew instinctively her time was almost up. It would be time for her to talk, and she still didn't know quite what to say. How could she explain to House what she was still sorting through in her mind? How could she make him understand something she didn't understand?

The road came to an end at the edge of a lake, and House parked the bike. Although he helped her remain steady as she climbed off the back, he avoided looking at her. She watched as he removed his helmet and took hers to store them and retrieve his cane before turning and walking to the edge of the water. His limp was pronounced and she noticed how tightly he gripped the handle.

The sun was going down in the distance beyond the trees on the opposite side of the lake, and the moon was already rising in the sky. It was full, she noted and walked toward the water to join House.

"It's beautiful," she sighed as she looked out over the lake at the golden hues reflecting off the water.

House didn't respond, but reached in his jacket pocket the remove a bottle. She turned as he emptied a pill into his palm and popped it in his mouth.

House caught her expression and offered her the bottle. "Have one," he suggested. "You look like you need it as bad as I do."

She frowned at him, and attempted a glare, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "But when you fall into a blubbering heap of useless emotions, don't blame the guy who doesn't feel."

"House," she spoke in a warning tone, but the hint of a quiver in her voice was still obvious.

"You wanted to talk," he answered. "You didn't really think I'd make it easy, did you?"

Cuddy stared at him. He was right, of course. She knew it wouldn't be easy, and that he'd make it even harder. Hell, she was making it harder.

She turned away from him and stared out over the lake. In the growing darkness, she searched for the words. "Words don't matter." His words taunted her. In his world, words didn't matter. Actions mattered, and her actions had said everything he needed to know. She'd left him.

"Sometimes words help you find the right action," she spoke as if he'd been privy to her internal thoughts. "Even if you don't speak them aloud, the words are there in your head: interpreting, sorting, solving the puzzle."

She had his attention. He was looking at her now with that slight frown in his brow signifying he was not only listening but also analyzing her every move, guessing her every thought.

"You don't always get the diagnosis right the first time." Her eyes begged him to follow her train of thought. "You review the symptoms and the situation, try to factor in the people and environment, but sometimes it takes a few missed diagnosis and redirects to get to the truth."

House looked away from her, staring out into the darkness she had just abandoned. She watched his eyes move and his Adam's apple shift as he swallowed…and she waited. She didn't want to rush the moment or say the wrong thing. Not that she had a clue what was right or wrong. She just knew this was the most important moment in their relationship up to this point and she couldn't blow it. If they were ever going to heal, if they had a chance at all, it was contingent on this moment.

House looked up into the trees and shifted to put more weight on his cane before turning to her again. "Spit it out, Cuddy." His voice was demanding, but contained a hint of gravel that belied his snark.

She crossed her arms protectively in front of her and bit down on her lip nervously before taking a deep breath and diving into this dissertation.

"I kept having these weird dreams," she started. "We were in these strange situations, and we weren't really ourselves. We looked like us, but there was nothing remotely familiar about us. And yet we were happy. At least we looked happy." She frowned as she remembered. "In every dream, something would shift – not an obvious shift, but something very subtle – and I could sense that something wasn't right. Then you'd be gone. In every dream, that happiness would shift into confusion and you'd disappear." She paused, "I'd end up alone."

"You dreamed I let you down and then I did," he harshly interrupted and turned to walk away. "Congratulations! You're psychic."

Cuddy grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving.

"House, no!" She cried. "That's not what I'm saying."

He stared down at her hand on his arm as she pleaded. "Please hear me out."

She watched as he carefully pulled his arm from her grasp and turned back to the water, this time leaning his weight against a tree.

"I made the connection that night," she continued. "I had been so afraid of dying, of leaving Rachel, of leaving you…I thought my subconscious was piecing everything together in those dreams. It was telling me that you'd taken the vicodin. It was telling me…" Cuddy stopped suddenly and rubbed her hand along her forehead, frustrated by the memory. "I was afraid, and emotional, and I missed the point."

House had turned to look at her again. His expression was controlled, revealing nothing, but those blue eyes were piercing and she knew he was listening intently as he tried to follow her rambling.

"We haven't been ourselves," she explained. "We agreed to be brutally honest, and we seemed to say the right things, and do the right things, but we missed the most important thing." Cuddy stepped forward into his space and their eyes connected. "We weren't House and Cuddy."

His eyes seemed to shift along her face, processing every movement, every nuance in her expression. "You've always been the one to call me on my control issues, to call me an idiot for feeling guilty, to manipulate everything I say and do so I'd finally look in a mirror. You've always made me see the truth. You've always challenged me." Her voice broke at the magnitude of what she was finally verbalizing. "My God, House. When was the last time we laughed? We use to enjoy driving each other crazy, anticipating what the other would do and playing our little games. What happened to us?"

House stared at her, his frown growing deeper. "What are you saying Cuddy?"

"I don't know what I'm saying," she sighed. "I just miss you; I miss us. I want…"

"We need to go," House interrupted and started walking toward the motorcycle. Cuddy stood stunned as she watched him move into the shadows.

"House," she called. But he kept moving, his back stiff and his stance determined. "House!" she called again and started after him, quickly catching up to him and grabbing his arm to turn him around. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He spun around and she saw the anger in his eyes, in the way he seemed to grit his teeth beneath his clenched lips. She was confused. "What?" She asked again, and then pleaded, "talk to me."

"You dumped me!" He snarled. "You want to know what happened to us? I couldn't be your perfect boyfriend, I couldn't be there for you and you dumped me. That's what happened to us. End of story." He turned to walk away again and taunted, "So glad we cleared that up."

"Why were you trying to be the perfect boyfriend?" she quickly challenged from behind him. "I told you I didn't want you to change. I never asked you to be perfect." Cuddy caught up with him just as he whirled around.

"No, you just told me I could never lie to you again, that I had to do everything your way and on your terms. You said we should be brutally honest with each other and we'd get lucky and make each other better people. But then you expect me to read your mind and know what you want and what you need…"

"But you've always known what I want," she argued. "You've always…"

"Cut the crap, Cuddy!" He yelled angrily. "It's not as if you were being real with me at all. I had to guess every step of the way and hope I was doing it right, or lose everything that mattered to me!"

Cuddy was stunned at his vehemence, but stood her ground as he angrily bore into her. "It was always hanging over my head that you would leave me. Oh, and big surprise! You did!"

"Why would you be afraid of that? You knew I loved you!"

His head jerked back in shock. "You're kidding right?" His tone was mocking. "I lie and we don't go out for days, I have a hooker give me a massage and you don't speak to me, I leave the toilet seat up and no sex for me!"

"House, in all the years we've known each other, you have never taken one of my threats seriously. You always knew I wouldn't fire you, or let you take the fall, or even go to jail," she reminded him. "You've laughed at every threat I've ever made because you believed in my loyalty to you. Now, suddenly you're afraid I'll leave you."

"You did leave me!" He yelled. Cuddy pulled back, shaken by the depth of his anger. "I gave you my heart. I trusted you with everything. I believed in you and you left me!"

She felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she stared at him. His pain was almost palpable and she hurt for him. She hurt for both of them.

"You never even showed me your pain," she whispered. "The whole time we dated, I never saw you dealing with your leg pain. You never told me what it was that kept you up at night staring at the ceiling like you stare at your white board. You never told me you were scared of losing me, or even angry that I was threatening you." She paused for a moment before speaking in a stronger voice, facing his anger head on. "You never even told me you were scared that I was going to die."

He looked as if she'd slapped him. "You couldn't tell that?"

"Now who was expected to be psychic?"

"That's not psychic, that's common sense."

"That's a double standard."

"That's expecting you to be you," he quipped and then puzzled as she suddenly grinned.

"My point exactly."

House seemed to be searching for answers as he stared into her eyes, and Cuddy finally felt a sense of confidence come over her. "How could either one of us possibly know what to do or what to say or how to act in any situation when we were acting like complete strangers? I didn't even recognize the control freak I was becoming. Did you recognize yourself at all?"

Cuddy felt proud that she'd circled them around to her point, an undeniable truth of the problem in their relationship. There was no way he could admit he'd been himself during their relationship. He was careful, cautious, almost weak at times – attributes very alien to the arrogant, reckless jerk she'd known and loved for so many years. She felt certain his silence was a statement of his understanding and perhaps even his agreement. But then she sensed the shift.

It was similar to her dreams. It wasn't something easily identified, just a subtle but prevalent alteration in his expression, in his mood. She watched him intently as a shadow of pain seemed to surround him, as a memory of some kind seemed to take him over. He looked almost fragile even as he stood taller and breathed deep, drawing on his reserves. It was the dichotomy of vulnerability and strength that drew her to him even as it made her want to run.

She didn't understand it. She didn't know what brought about the darkness that seemed to torment him at unsuspecting times, but his back became stiff and his jaw tight. And as she gently touched his cheek, running her hands along the edge of his beard, she recognized the invisible wall that he was raising up around him, signifying the focus was about to be removed from him and deflected somewhere else.

Cuddy gasped as he suddenly grabbed her waist and brought his mouth roughly down on hers. She could feel the anger and frustration in his mouth, his tongue; in the way his hands anchored her body. Her blood started to heat as his tongue made furious demands inside her mouth, somehow revealing his pain in the very way he was eliciting the best sort of pain upon her. Her hands reached up around his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair as he crushed her breasts against his chest.

It was powerful and unexpected and the wrong thing for them to be doing when they had so many issues yet to sort through. But he felt so good and it felt so right. This was when they were at their best, when they were most real, when they were drowning in the very essence of one another.

Cuddy felt as if she were floating as he quickly turned her so her back was against the motorcycle. He was whispering to her in that raspy voice that never failed to tease her senses, and his words were more blunt than poetic. His hands seemed to touch her everywhere, lightly grazing then hard pressure, and a flame was instantly ignited that ran throughout her body and centered between her thighs.

The slight chill in the air brushed her skin and she became aware that her shirt was now open and her skirt was dropping to her ankles. His lips ran down her chest to the fabric of her bra, and he began licking and sucking and creating a hungry pull like shocks of electricity. She heard herself moan as he quickly picked her up and placed her on the bike, her back toward the bars. As he slid his arms from around her, the bra slipped from her breasts and he quickly removed it with her shirt.

His eyes were devouring her and she became bold beneath his desire. She spread her arms wide against the bars and rested her hands on the handles. The front wheel was turned so her body was angled toward him. The position pushed her breasts forward into the moonlight, and she gave him a grin that dared him to continue.

"Well?" she said when he didn't immediately move toward her again.

His hand reached out to slide between her breasts teasing a line down the center of her body until it reached his other hand at the waist of her panties. He gave her an edged grin and tore the fabric from her body.

"House!" she exhaled and he gently spread her legs.

The glimpse of her folds wet with desire for him seemed to send him over a mental cliff. She could feel his cock beating against her thigh behind the fly of his jeans and knew his excitement was on the crescendo with hers. She wanted to feel him inside her. She wanted to feel the beat of his cock match the rhythm of the blood pulsing through her veins. She needed to feel in sync with him again, a part of him.

He seemed to have other ideas as she unconsciously wiggled her hips and he slid his hands along the outside of her thighs. He brought his head down to her chest and teased as circle along the tip of her breast with the scruff of his beard. When her breath quickened, he let his tongue take over and he laved at the areola. He was savoring her. This was not a man who was simply seeking to bring her pleasure, but was satisfying a hunger. He was feasting on her, and his focus was unwavering as he sucked her nipple between his lips with increasing pressure and speed. When she thought she'd scream from the pleasure, he moved to the opposite breast and repeated the process.

Her nipples were sensitive, alive with sensation and her body was begging for more. Cuddy heard herself moan in what could have been torment as much as pleasure. She was desperate for him, desperate for his touch.

At last his hands began to move from where they'd been braced at her thighs. They were slowly, ever so lightly moving toward her sex and Cuddy held her breath in anticipation of the explosive sensation. But House was in no hurry. He teased her, bringing his fingers close to her center then moving them away. When she couldn't take it any more and started to take in that much needed breath, he brought his thumbs to separate her folds and graze her clit. Cuddy almost jumped off the bike.

"Easy," he whispered as he pressed, circled and massaged. He watched her writhing beneath his touch, the flush coming over her body, the rise and fall of her chest as her breath became quick and shallow. He was manipulating her clit, playing her every nerve ending like the keys of a piano and she rode out the music, biting her lip until she thought she might draw blood. She felt the waves building inside her and she found herself arching once, twice…He suddenly moaned and grabbed her by the hips. She didn't know when he'd unzipped his jeans and really didn't care. Her mind lost all thought as he plunged into her.

She surrounded him and he looped an arm under one of her legs and hooked it around him, bringing her closer, as close as could be. They rocked together as he drove into her, ramming, reveling in the rightness, in the sounds, in the sensations. Her little cries seemed to drive him harder. His body seemed to twist as he braced the bike, held her tight and murmured in her ear.

Pleasure was bubbling from her core and she felt the intensity grow with every move. Cuddy grabbed onto House, drawing him into a deeper place than he'd ever gone before. It was more than physical, there was something almost spiritual about the way their bodies connected and joined in this heavenly rhythm. She couldn't explain it, but just as she was about to reach some kind of understanding with the universe, it exploded. She cried out as the orgasm rolled through her and just when she felt that final crash of the tide, House spilled out inside her. His body trembled as he slumped against her, his mouth against her neck.

In this unguarded, charged moment House kissed the sensitive skin beneath her ear and whispered, "I love you." And Cuddy felt a tear run down her cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all for your comments. I appreciate your thoughts and I hope you continue to enjoy it. House and Cuddy have a long way to go, but I think they have everything they need to get there. It will never be boring and it will always be passionate. J

Thanks for reading!

Cuddy placed her open palms against his stomach as he drove through the night. He'd been so quiet since they'd made love. House had held her close as they'd come down from their high and his fingers had gently caressed her skin just as they always did. He was always touching her when they were alone together, the complete opposite of his closed-off behavior when they were in public. But even as his fingers ran along her shoulder and back, he remained quiet and she could feel him withdrawing from her. It was difficult to read him when he was like this so she just followed his lead, waiting for a sign or an opening. It hadn't come. Instead, he'd helped her put on her clothes, his eyes devouring her body as he slowly clasped each button of her blouse. He'd caressed her thigh and rear with focused intent as he pulled up her skirt and zipped it for her. Then she'd looked into his eyes, a vulnerable blue partially shadowed by his long lashes as they slightly fluttered, and a strange sense of anxiety gripped her.

"We need to go," he whispered, and helped her put on the helmet he'd given her. His hands had lingered a moments on her hair, moving the strands through his fingers before brushing it over her shoulders. Then he'd turned to get on the bike, gesturing for her to climb on behind him.

Now they were racing through the night, off the darkened side road and now on the main thoroughfare that she knew would lead to the hospital. What would they do when they got back? Would he come to her place? Would they keep talking? God knows they still had so much more to talk about, but even more, she just didn't want this night to end. She wanted to be with him, even if they didn't talk any more. His tension spoke more than words. She could feel it as she pressed up against his back. He was constructing walls and she was powerless to stop it.

He brought the motorcycle to a stop at the front of the hospital and turned to help guide her off the back. He didn't cut the engine; nor did he look at her as she removed the helmet. This didn't bode well for Cuddy and she didn't know what to say, what to do. He turned to take the helmet from her to place it at the storage area, and she took him by the arm.

"House?" It came out as a question, but her fingers tightened on his forearm, begging him to look at her.

"Don't," he answered, and turned to her. She held her breath at the anguish she saw on his face. Oh, no! She almost groaned aloud. "We can't go back," his voice was graveled as he continued. "This doesn't change anything…it doesn't change what we've done." Cuddy felt her eyes fill with tears. He couldn't be doing this! They hadn't even had a chance to finish talking, to get to the bottom of things.

"House, no," she pleaded as her hand touched his cheek and ran down his jaw. "Don't do this. Don't make the same mistake I did." She'd left him under the strain of emotions and in doing so never gave them a chance. Now, he was doing the same. She could feel the pain emanating from him, even as she saw him pull away.

"You made the right decision, Cuddy," he said, revved the engine and then looked her in the eyes. "You were right."

And he drove away, leaving Cuddy standing at the front door of the hospital, stunned and abandoned.

H H H H H H H H

At first she'd cried, then she became angry, but now she was just determined. Cuddy knew he was hurt and afraid, and in classic House form he was running. Hell, she'd been running for weeks herself. But she was done. They had a small breakthrough at the lake and she wasn't going to let him go that easy. She wasn't going to give up on them; she wasn't going to let him give up. She'd arranged for Rachel to stay at Julia's for a couple of days and she was going to spend that time doing everything in her power to get House to open up. She was going to do what she should have been doing all along: fight for the man she loved.

After retrieving the hidden key to his apartment, Cuddy took a deep breath and opened the door. This was it. She was going in.

It was an anticlimactic entrance. House was sitting on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, staring at the TV. She didn't think he was watching the documentary judging by the glass in his hand and the half empty bottle of scotch on the side table.

"You taking up breaking and entering now?" he muttered without even turning. "Maybe you can help out my team next time."

Cuddy dropped her bag on the floor and came to face him. "It's not B & E if you use a key."

"It's not your key."

"Possession is nine tenths of the law."

"A weak defense."

"The burden of proof will be on you," she quipped and sat down on the other side of the couch. "Innocent until proven guilty."

"You haven't been innocent since you were sixteen."

"Seventeen," she corrected and caught the slight grin he was fighting.

He took a swallow of scotch before turning to look at her. "Why are you here?"

"What I want, I run away from; what I need, I don't have a clue," she reminded House of the words he'd spoken to her. They'd haunted her for years, coming to mind at almost every personal decision she made. "I've decided not to run any more."

He sighed and turned away. "You can't always get what you want," he responded.

"But if you try sometimes you get what you need."

House almost groaned as he rubbed his hand along his forehead. "You don't know what you need."

"Yes, I do." She didn't hesitate. "I need you. I need to know if we can work."

House rolled his eyes and turned to her. "Should we go into the bathroom? I can sit in the floor with a bottle of vicodin and we can just rewind everything and start over."

"I'll get my scrubs," she mocked before turning to face him fully. "And don't act like I'm the only on who's been giving mixed signals here."

"I told you I was screwed up," he justified.

"And that made it right for you to sabotage our relationship every step of the way? To test my love every chance you got instead of actually being a couple and giving it a chance?" Cuddy argued.

"I tried hard to change for you," he said, and she thought he looked like a child turning away to pout. But she wasn't going to be phased.

"I didn't want you to change," she stated firmly. "And you are full of shit! You didn't try to change for me. You put on a show like you always do."

His head jerked around and he glared angrily at her, but she didn't give him a chance to argue. "You brought your hooker masseuse into our relationship when we'd only been together a couple of weeks! You knew I wouldn't go for that, but you did it any way. And flaunted it!"

"We've already been over this," he rolled his eyes. "It was nothing."

"Oh, don't be obtuse!" she said. "You knew it would bring out every insecurity I had, and you did it anyway. Then you lied about the patient and flaunted your success like it was some medal of honor."

"I was saving the patient!"

"You were lying for the sake of lying!" She overruled him. "How many times have you lied about a patient, but clearly let me know that I could pursue it and kill the patient or I could trust that your lie was saving a life and protecting me at the same time? How many times did you tell the truth that you were lying?"

He stared blankly at her and she knew she had him. "You worried and struggled about telling the lie in the first place, but that lie wasn't the one most damaging to us. Oh, and then you lied about never lying again. What the hell was that?"

"It was what you needed to hear and the one thing that would get me back in your bed," he retorted.

Cuddy pulled back, clearly disappointed in his reaction. "That's all it ever was with us, then? Sex? There was never any love, or trust, or respect?"

He closed his eyes in frustration. "You know that's not true," he said with a sigh.

"Do I?" She asked. "You pretend you're invested in developing a relationship with Rachel, but then you try to dump her on Wilson." She noticed his eyes widened a fraction. "Yes, House, I know all about it. You know there could be an issue with my daughter and you try to hide it from me instead of us working through it together. You turned the situation into some kind of parody! You are one of the most brilliant minds of our time and you expect me to believe you didn't know these things would bring out every control-freak tendency in me? For God's sake, you know how demanding my job is, how demanding Rachel is, and how hard it is to keep everything together. You were always jerking me around emotionally and then coming back to me all meek and apologetic with your 'I'll do better' talk expecting me to be your savior and make everything perfect. You know perfectly well I'm no angel coming to save the day. I'm as screwed up as you! That's why you chose me."

House was staring at her. In all the years she'd known him, she didn't think she'd ever seen this expression of complete shock on his face. He always anticipated every move and worked the angles, yet she'd somehow shaken him with her words. Or was it her emotion? It was hard to say.

"You said I made you a crappy doctor. Was that supposed to make me feel good? Was it supposed to make me feel proud that you chose me over who you are?" She crossed her arms over her chest in a protective gesture as she recalled that night. "I guess I should have felt humbled that you loved me so much. But medical puzzles are a fundamental part of who you are and so you basically said you'd rather be with me than be yourself. And if you're not yourself, how the hell were you going to really be with me?"

Cuddy thought this sounded convoluted even to her. The more she talked the more obvious it became that they had never really given their relationship a chance. All of these months had just been a trip _Through the Looking Glass_, and they'd been playing a nonsense game of chess. The emotions were rumbling inside her, bottled up for months, and now she wanted to scream. It seemed her life was a series of failures and losses directly related to her inability to be enough at any given time. She was always falling just a little short of the mark, and discovering too late where she'd missed it.

House seemed frozen. The look on his face was familiar. This was the man who cared for her beyond all his logic and reason, who desired her with the depths of his soul, yet was trapped in a dungeon she could never understand. This couldn't be the moment when she lost him. Even after all they had been through, she'd believed they'd make it back to each other. As usual, she was too late in admitting that fact.

"House," her voice trembled as she pleaded with him to really hear her. "We've established we haven't been ourselves. It wasn't a real chance if it wasn't the real us."

He looked as if she'd just pulled the rug out from under him. Any second now he'd get skittish. He'd pull back behind that wall that always kept them apart…even when they were together.

"I can't be what you need, Cuddy."

She sighed. "I don't want you to be what you think I need, or what I think I need. I want you to be who you are."

"No, you don't"

"Yes, I do!"

House grit his teeth and stood. "Don't do this, Cuddy. Let it go."

"No."

"What if something happens to you again? What if something happens to Rachel? I won't be there again. I'll let you down and we'll be right back where we are, but worse!" His voice was rising and he was beginning to tremble in anger. "I'll never be the man you need! I'll always disappoint you! I'll always hurt…" Something seemed to snap inside him and he threw his glass against the fireplace, shattering it. He stared at the damage and Cuddy watched as he visibly reigned in his emotions, trying to place that lid back on his emotions.

He wasn't the only one. Cuddy had been startled by his sudden burst of anger, but she didn't react. She knew he had been pushing his feelings down, burying them deep inside, much like she had been. He needed to release them. He needed to get them out before they could deal with anything. So, Cuddy remained controlled and stared at him in an anesthetic haze. "Why couldn't you be there?" she asked.

He jerked his head around to look at her as if startled by her question. "You have always been there for me, stalking me, distracting me, making my life all about you and not about whatever other drama may be going on. Until now. Why?" Her voice was calm, almost analytical.

House just stared at her, his frown increasing the lines between his brows. "You needed comfort…hope," he said. "You were afraid and needed encouragement. We both know that's not me. It will never be me."

Cuddy sat quietly and watched him as he bowed his head. Those demons of his were racing through his mind, his memories. They were tormenting him as they always did. She didn't really understand what they were, where they came from, much less how to help him. It was hard enough dealing with the obvious issues between them. Sometimes their obstacles seemed so insurmountable. Yet, there he stood, the man she loved as she'd never loved anyone or anything in her life, and she just couldn't let go.

She got up from the sofa and headed toward the kitchen. She could feel his eyes following her, his attention unwavering as she grabbed the broom and dustpan from the corner. "I remember when I was trying to get pregnant, I was an emotional wreck: trying to choose donors, plan the right time, manage the hormones, deal with what the hormones were doing to me. And you," she gestured to him with the dustpan as she came back into the room. "You were driving me crazy: investigating the donors, flirting with me while you gave me those damn shots, teasing me every chance you got." She handed him the dustpan and she started to sweep up the glass. "Every time I would start to feel overwhelmed or afraid or ashamed that I even had to go that route, you would be there. The most annoying man I know." She paused to look at him. "You were my lifeline. I'd find myself looking for reasons to see you, to fight with you, to have some senseless argument that would make me feel alive…"

She handed him the broom as she took the dustpan from him, and knelt on the floor, gesturing for him to sweep. His thoughts were preoccupied with what she had just said, and he complied as if by rote.

"It's always been that way," she finally continued. "When I was stressed about auditors and review boards, meeting budget goals, or negotiating contracts, you were always there, tormenting me with your ridiculous games and pranks, leering at my body, or suggesting a sex position. You never let up. And I never stopped looking to be surprised in elevators or stairwells or the parking deck. It was just a given that you would be there when I most needed a distraction or a reality check." She stood and took the broom from him and went back into the kitchen to dump the glass in the trash and get a towel to soak up the residue that had splattered.

"You have always had a way of helping me see truth and face it head on." Her voice continued to be steady and level, as if she was doing a lecture for a class of medical students, not revealing her heart. She tossed the towel on the ground and used her foot to clean up the liquid. "You've always been able to slap me in the face with the facts and made me face the reality of the situation without becoming emotional, or sympathetic…or guilty." She mocked herself as she picked up the now dirty towel, then she stood to look him in the eye with a steady gaze. "It's you I turned to when I needed courage or strength…when I needed clarity." She let her words hang in the air for a moment before she turned to take the towel to the dirty laundry. House didn't move. His eyes followed her, but he didn't seem to move a muscle. "I never needed you to be something you're not. I needed you to be who you'd always been," she said, but then corrected herself. "At least who you'd been up until we became lovers and decided I needed something different." Cuddy came to stand in the doorway separating the living room and the kitchen, leaning against the edge. "So, why couldn't you be there? Why can't you be there?"

House remained silent. Cuddy took another deep breath, willing herself not to yell at him to say something. She knew she needed to remain calm and not give him any ammunition to deflect or run. "I know you were afraid," she said. "What really kept you from being afraid with me?"

House looked away and Cuddy remained very still and waited. It seemed minutes passed, and the second hand of the clock on the bookshelf was tormenting her. Still, she waited. Finally House sighed and his shoulders slumped in resolve, in surrender. He didn't look at her as he returned to the sofa and sat back down, staring at his clasped hands that rested on his lap.

"You know my dad was a military man," he said suddenly. Cuddy nodded, but he didn't see her. He didn't look up, but seemed to be working through something in his head. "He liked schedules and structure. He liked things his way because they were the right way. He knew best." House looked up at her and shrugged his shoulders. "I wasn't the ideal son for a man like him."

Cuddy waited, silently encouraging him to continue.

"I was always getting in trouble, always showing too much emotion, too interested in arts and science, and not enough in being a man." House started to rub his thigh. "When I was 9 years old, mom was at some military wives function, and dad…" his eyes glossed over as he stared at nothing, but was fully focused on the memory. "He kept putting more and more ice in the tub. If I cried, he'd add more. If I fought him, he'd add more. If I showed any reaction at all, he'd add more ice."

The tears were forming in Cuddy's eyes and she fought to keep them from falling as she listened intently.

"It was so cold," he continued, his voice soft, raspy. "I grit my teeth and withdrew into my mind. I sat in that ice bath and promised myself he would never see another emotion from me but contempt. With every shiver, I swore no one would ever use my feelings against me again. No one would really see me again except on my terms. Nothing would ever hurt me like that again because I would be in control. It would never be about anyone else but me…about what was right for me." House was now squeezing his leg, almost unconsciously. "A few years later I met a Baraku and I knew I wanted to be like him." House stared forward, lost in his thoughts while Cuddy remained still, watching him. The tears had escaped from her eyes, but she remained still and waited. This was his time. Somewhere in this story was an answer to her question. She had to be patient. She had to listen and really hear what…

"I can feel the cold," he suddenly spoke again. "When I feel…When I'm…" House searched for words. "I was afraid," he finally said. "I had finally trusted and believed again. I loved you, and I needed you." His eyes were glossy and he still wasn't looking at her. "When I got the call….You were dying. I was afraid, and hurt…and it was cold…and I froze." He took a deep breath and shook his head at the memory. "I knew what I was supposed to do, what I needed to do, but I felt the cold. And I felt myself shutting down. But you were alone. And I couldn't let you down. I just thought if I could numb the feelings, if I could just stop the pain…"

Cuddy came to stand in front of him, drawing him from his thoughts to look up at her.

"It's never going to change, Cuddy," he said. "It was hard enough with Stacy, but then my leg…" House gave a bitter laugh. "Now it's cold and pain, and it overrides everything." He leveled her a look so full of sadness that she almost shattered. "That's why you'll always be alone. That's why you were right to break up with me."

Cuddy let the breath out she'd been unaware she was holding. She let the tears fall as House looked away from her. She was crying for the little boy, for the man and for them. God, he had been fighting this battle since he was a child. Feeling more deeply than anyone imagined, but frozen by those very emotions. He closed himself off in that dark chamber of his wounded soul and wouldn't open himself up to anyone who may be able to hurt him with anything akin to "character-giving" cruelty, or the disgusting words that robbed him of self-esteem and identity. If he never let them in, nothing they said or did mattered. The infarction and what happened during that time would have been even more devastating. He'd had to give his control to someone else, and she'd betrayed him. Now he lived with pain, something he couldn't control or hide, something that caused that emotional cold to surround him. So many people only saw that cold; they saw the jerk that didn't possess "normal" feelings. But she'd seen beyond that persona. She saw the amazing man beneath that cold.

She placed her leg on one side of him and shifted her weight to straddle him.

"What are you doing?" House asked, startled by her sudden move.

Cuddy pulled in close to him, tightening her thighs and running her fingers through his hair before wrapping her arms around him. "Keeping you warm," she whispered in his ear.

"Don't," he quickly answered, but she held him tight. That's when she felt it. He understood that she had heard him, had seen this part of him for perhaps the first time. She saw the man he was, not a crush or a character or a legend. She saw him.

"It's okay," she whispered. "You're safe." She kissed his temple and her tears wet the side of his face. "You don't have to do anything, or say anything. You don't have to be anything, but who you are." She leaned back to look at him, running her hands along his jaw and taking his face in her hands. "When you're cold, I'll keep you warm."

He tried to shake his head. "It's not going to work," he hopelessly argued, but she held him tight.

"I love you," she said, and slightly rocked him against her. "We can keep each other safe, and warm. We can figure this out. I don't need you to be some perfect man. I need you to be you. I need to you to let me be there for you, with you, even in our insanity. I need you. Please don't shut me out."

Cuddy felt his hands slide up her back and her tears began to flow more freely. Even with what she'd just said, the injuries of the past were reminding him that being vulnerable was a danger. She saw in his eyes, felt it in his touch. But she also felt something else…

"I don't want to shut you out," he softly said. He tried to calm her, to comfort her by hugging her and letting her cry. "Shhhh, it's okay," he muttered.

"Your dad was wrong," she sniffled against his neck. "You don't have to let these memories bury you. You don't have to buy into those lies." She began to kiss his neck, his ear his temple. "You deserve to be loved. You deserve to be happy. It's okay to be you."

Cuddy felt him tremble in her arms. She tried to lean back and look at him, to look into his eyes and see his heart, to connect with him. She wanted him to see in her eyes that her words were true; her love was strong and lasting, and warm. But he buried his head in her neck and held her in a grip that took her breath away. That's when she realized she needed to stop talking and just be there. That's when she understood…

House was crying.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks again for all of your kind reviews and private messages. I'm both flattered and humbled by such praise. I'm really glad you are enjoying the story. Oh, and yes...House will get his turn at being worshipped soon enough. Cuddy is expressing her feelings with words right now. House isn't too comfortable with that yet so he is expressing his feelings in his own way. That may change soon..._

H H H H H H H H

They lay curled up on the couch together emotionally exhausted. House had his eyes closed, but she knew he was still awake by the way his fingers continued to caress her back. It would be so easy to fall asleep in his arms; his touch was hypnotic. But she couldn't. She knew he was processing, still struggling with the intensity of the emotions he'd just shared. She needed to give him space to think, but not so much space that he could erect his walls again. On the other hand, she needed to make something very clear to him while he was still open to listening.

"House," she said, and propped her chin on the hand resting on his chest so that she could look at his face. He didn't open his eyes, but responded with a grunted "huh". "You do know that every time you have let your guard down with me, those were the times I felt the most sure of what I wanted, the most confident and fearless in our relationship." She waited for a response, but there was only silence. So, she continued. "Whenever you drop your shields and let me behind those walls of yours, I've always seen you as a strong man, never weak or unworthy, never lacking in any way."

"I need to get up," he said, and gently pushed her aside to pull himself up and around her. "My leg hurts."

She watched him limp down the hall and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Was he shutting her out? Was all this for nothing? Did he hear her at all? God, he was frustrating. But she had come prepared for the long haul if that's what it took, so she stood up, retrieved her bag and headed for the bedroom. She'd wait for him in bed.

When House entered the bedroom, Cuddy had already changed into her gown and was waiting for him beneath the covers. The lamp beside the bed bathed the room in a soft glow, but she could clearly see his smirk as he looked at her.

"Presumptuous."

"Persistent," she corrected.

"Should I get naked so you can have your wicked way with me while you plunder the depths of my dark soul?"

He was mocking them. Surely that was a good sign.

"I'll get the handcuffs."

"At last!" He looked up and offered a thank you to God as he changed out of his jeans. "We can do the blind fold and whip, too."

"And the gag."

"Hey!" He whined. "You'd miss my mouth."

"I'd miss your tongue."

"Dr. Cunnilingus at your service," he leered at her as he crawled into bed, but then reached over her to turn the light out, bathing them in darkness.

"I hate that word," Cuddy said. "It sounds like someone's coughing up a hairball. At least Fellatio rolls of the tongue."

"Not with everyone," House argued. "It takes true talent you know? That's why the ancient Greeks called it _playing the flute_. It takes skill and talent and a …"

"I've never heard you complain," Cuddy interrupted with a frown.

"And you NEVER will." And he rolled over on his side with his back to her.

Cuddy stared at him. What was he doing? It didn't feel like his shields were up as he teased her, it didn't seem like he was shutting her out, either. And yet she didn't know what to think. It's not that she expected them to have sex tonight. She didn't expect anything. Or did she? Maybe she was still coming into this with expectations and demands? Is that why she was feeling so forlorn? He hadn't responded, and so her feelings were hurt. Cuddy suddenly felt angry with herself. She was disappointed because he hadn't responded how she wanted and it made her nervous, which made her want to take control again. What was wrong with her?

She drew closer to him and draped her arm around him as she curled up around his body. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?" He took his hand in hers and cupped it to his chest, intertwining their fingers.

"Letting me stay," she answered honestly. "It means everything to me." She didn't want to take it for granted. He could have kicked her out, shut her down and closed her out, never giving them a chance. She would have deserved it after leaving him the way she did. But there was something that remained between them. It couldn't be denied, or ignored. They could fight it and run from it, but it would never go away. Somehow she completely understood that now. "I want to be with you, in spite of every thing against us, in spite of when, or where, or why. Do you understand that? Did you ever understand that?"

House slowly and deliberately turned onto his back and pulled her into his arms. Her eyes widened slightly as he tilted her chin and brought his mouth to meet hers. They'd shared many kisses over the months, but there was something different about the way his lips worshipped her. He sipped at her, slowly enjoying the softness of her mouth, the way she made a tiny sound of happiness beneath his lips. His kiss held a promise she'd never felt from him.

The kiss ended, but he kept hold of her, using one hand to stroke her cheek while the other began that familiar caress down her spine. "I get it," he said. "I do get it." He held her in his arms as they settled into the silence. She understood he wasn't ready to say any more, but he wasn't hiding behind any walls, either. He was there with her, in the now, in the unknown, in the hope and fear. He was with her.

She felt safe enough to sleep.

H H H H H H H H

Cuddy heard the music even before she opened her eyes. It was the piano. She turned to look at the empty bed beside her before glancing at the clock that read 5:20 a.m. She frowned and got out of bed to seek House.

He was still wearing his boxers and t-shirt as his hands ran over the keys. He was breathtaking. There was just something so visceral about him as his lithe fingers created the melody. He was not only a part of the music, but completely immersed in feeling, in the emotion that seemed to flow freely from him to the piano and back again. That insidious internal battle seemed at rest and those angry demons that so often pursued him were conspicuously quiet. He wasn't overshadowed with intellect and analysis. He was just simply beautiful and breathtaking to watch.

She quietly walked over to the piano, not wanting to disturb him, but needing to be close to him. His head was tilted back and his eyes closed, and her eyes followed the line of his neck. She couldn't stop staring. In all the years she'd known him, this was the first time she'd seen this dimension of peace in him.

His eyes opened suddenly and Cuddy froze, afraid she'd destroyed the moment. House grinned slightly at her, but kept playing. She could almost feel the music in every cell of her body. It accentuated her natural reaction to his ravenous eyes slowly exploring her body.

Cuddy softly smiled, thinking this moment felt surreal and perfect. She instinctively and carefully climbed onto the piano, propping her head on her hand as she spread out before him. House seemed to follow the line of her gown against the piano, appreciating the contrast of the white satin-like material against the black lacquer. She felt caressed by the vibrations beneath her body and the way his eyes continued to move along the line of her curves. An internal heat spread beneath her skin, and she unconsciously began to run her hand along her chest.

His eyes were on her hand and her breathing became shallow at his hungry expression. Her fingers slid between her breasts and down the center of her abdomen to veer off at her hips and slowly return to her breast. As her index finger circled the nipple, Cuddy couldn't help but bask in the eroticism of the moment. She cupped her breast and closed her eyes, focusing on the feel of her body and the sound of the music around her. Even through the sensual haze, she recognized the tune. The message went straight to her heart and Cuddy thought she'd never felt so aware of her need for him.

She sat up and slid toward him, her gown sliding up her thighs as she opened her thighs to his view. His pupils dilated as he gazed at her. With a boldness that would make her blush under different circumstances, she began to sing as he played.

"Making love with you has left me peaceful warm inside. What more could I ask, there's nothing left to be desired…" Her fingers ran between her folds as she watched him, letting him know she'd received the message and felt the same. "Sometimes all I need is the air that I breathe and to love you…all I need…" House stopped playing and grabbed her thighs, smoothly pulling her to the edge as he stood. His mouth captured hers in a kiss that claimed. His hands came around to grasp her rear and pull her against him. He groaned from somewhere deep inside his chest.

Pulling her tightly into his arms, he shifted them both until he pulled her down onto his lap as he sat back down on the bench. Her body crashed against the keys creating a cacophonous tune that almost reflected the explosive passion encompassing them. His lips traveled along her jaw and down her neck to her clavicle, leaving nips and kisses along the path. He grabbed the material of her gown and quickly pulled it over her head. Cuddy felt intensely female and allowed that power to flow through her as she ran her hands through his hair and down his back. She was writhing against him, becoming more aware of the force of his erection between her legs with every move. He suddenly grabbed her arms and pushed them behind her, pressing them down against the keys of the piano. The sound was so loud she almost missed his whispered "beautiful" as he stared at her breasts. She was completely opened before him, arms and legs stretched wide.

He took one of her nipples in his mouth as his palm surrounded the other, gently kneading and teasing. His tongue laved her breast even as his lips gripped the tip and tugged, bringing to life every nerve ending. It was as if there was an electric current that ran from her nipple to her clit and her body jerked in response. Her spine bowed pushing her body toward him. House almost growled.

Cuddy brought one of her hands down between them, her fingers sliding along a portion of his shaft as her thumb grazed her clit. House jerked back to look directly in her eyes as he abruptly pulled her up to move beneath her, then pushed her down onto him. She cried out as he filled her, her interior muscles gripping him. Cuddy leaned back to find a better angle and took him deeper into her body. Her hips ground forward, then quickly found a rhythm with his strokes. Her hands and body against the keys of the piano provided a harmonic counterpoint to their passion. Short, heavy gasps alternated with long, exhilarated moans. He was trembling; she was shaking as they came close to the edge. She urged him to push harder as she tightened further around him and cried out in her orgasm. The sound of her release and the feel of her so fully shuddering around him drove him over the edge. His head fell back and a look of complete bliss came over him.

"House," she whispered, and drew him toward her again. She urged his tongue into her mouth and savored the flavor of him. He held on to her as their bodies regained equilibrium and their breathing returned to normal. When she tried to shift her weight off him, he pulled her back to him.

"Stay," he asked.

And she did. She didn't want to be anywhere else. So, she held him tight, snuggling against him. Though his erection had diminished, he remained inside her. Cuddy felt her walls grip him tighter as they embraced.

"I don't want to screw this up," he suddenly said and Cuddy held her breath. "You were right. I think I unconsciously knew what I was doing would bother you…that I was making mistakes and driving you away. I know the things you like and don't like. It's not as if I couldn't figure it out."

Cuddy didn't pull back to look at him, but remained very still as he opened up to her.

"I thought I was being a good boyfriend," he continued. "I thought if I just let you control things, if I just let you lead the way, it would be okay. My mistakes wouldn't blow up in my face." He paused for breath and shrugged his shoulders. "It worked for Lucas."

Cuddy jerked as if she'd been slapped. She pushed back to look at him, but he averted his eyes. "You chose to be with him," he shook his head. "Almost a year, and nothing he did would change that. He lied and cheated, he pulled all kinds of shit on me and Wilson…But nothing he did drove you away. You always forgave him."

Her eyes had filled with water as he spoke. Oh, God! Why had she never pieced this together? She took a deep breath and reached a hand up to caress his jaw. "House," she said, and gently urged him to look at her.

Their eyes met and she felt her heart break at the pain she saw. She held his gaze before continuing.

"You scared me," she said, and he frowned. He obviously hadn't expected that. "You broke down in my office. You hallucinated and completely broke apart because of me, because you cared about me. You spent all that time in Mayfield and all I could think was that it was my fault. I should have known. I should have seen something. I should have stopped it. I should have been there for you."

He tilted his head. "Now that is narcissistic," he mocked her. "There were a lot of circumstances that led to that breakdown: primarily an excessive amount of vicodin."

"I know that," she said. "I know it wasn't logical. I knew it then, but I couldn't stop the feelings." Cuddy brought her hands to his biceps and nervously rubbed up and down. "And then you came back, and you seemed so out-of-sorts. You were struggling to find your footing and I didn't want to be the reason you fell again. But you were clean and trying so hard and I wanted to be with you." Cuddy looked down, feeling more than a little ashamed at her memories, at her admission. "Lucas and I had gone out a couple of times and I knew he wanted more. He was good with Rachel and…he was safe."

"You knew he wouldn't go crazy on you," House finished for her.

"No! That wasn't it," she said. "Lucas made sense on paper." When House lifted his brow in exaggerated disbelief, she almost laughed. "I'm screwed up, House. And I've been in love with you – the most screwed up man in the world - for so long. I thought if I tried a relationship with someone who did all the right things, who helped ease the load and helped with Rachel, and emotionally supported me, maybe I could learn to be normal. Maybe if I could find a way to settle for a comfortable relationship, I could somehow save you."

She couldn't tell if House was shocked or processing, but she decided to plow forward and explain everything. "You didn't make it easy," she said. "I'm not supposed to like all your sexual comments and stupid games. I'm not supposed to get butterflies when you bury a compliment in one of your insulting metaphors. I'm not supposed to look forward to the next time you burst through my door with some crazy request. I'm supposed to like stability, and kindness, and someone who actually makes life easier. I'm not supposed to want a man like you. So, I kept trying to push you away, but you were…you. You were amazing. And every time I felt those feelings for you come up, I'd go home and try harder to fall in love with Lucas. Because, if I could just learn to love him, I'd be able to save us."

"You were going to marry him."

"Yes, I was." She answered honestly with a great deal of sadness. "I was an idiot."

Cuddy noticed his face had taken on an odd expression as she spoke. His hand came up to her face and he ran his knuckles along her jaw. He softly kissed her then pulled her close to him again in a warm embrace. "I'm sorry," he whispered close to her ear. Cuddy melted in his arms. "I never wanted to scare you. I never meant to hurt you."

With a sigh, Cuddy returned the hug. "I know," she said, and kissed his neck.

"I convinced myself that being with you would make everything better," he said, and adjusted his hips beneath her. Cuddy slipped off his lap and came to sit beside him on the piano bench. She took his hand in hers and leaned her head against his shoulder as they sat quietly.

"House?" Cuddy was the first to break the silence.

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry I never told you how proud I was of you," she said, then corrected herself. "How proud I am of you."

House was very still and very quiet. Cuddy was finally starting to understand she shouldn't anticipate immediate reactions from him. This pain, mistrust and confusion had been brewing for years. Their issues would not be resolved quickly. The fact that he was listening and actually heard her was enough for now. When he was ready to talk more, he would. It was hard to not force the conversation, not control the conversation, but she followed his lead. She just focused on this moment with him, and felt a strange peace in doing so.

"You're naked," he suddenly said. Cuddy grinned.

"Do you have any idea how may times I have fantasized about you naked at my piano?"

Cuddy chuckled. He turned to her and kissed the top of her head, and she felt warm in spite of the chill in the room against her naked skin.

"Is it all you hoped for?"

"Nope."

House stood and pulled her up with him, turning her to lift and position her back on top of the piano. He spread her thighs and let his gaze rest between her thighs. "Dr. Cunnilingus needs to perform a thorough exam."

Cuddy laughed…until his mouth came down on her. Then she could hardly breathe.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you so much for all of the nice reviews! _

_Special Thanks to FreyaOz and DrDiagnostic for their words of encouragement this week._

_And to MonFogel…the first one to push me for another chapter! I apologize for the delay. RL can be a bear, but I appreciate your interest and excitement._

_And for Ali...you know what part is for you!_

H H H H H H H H

"His wife left him for another woman," Cuddy said, taking another bite of the orange crepes House had made for breakfast. They were the most amazing things she'd tasted in a long time. And watching him prepare them had been quite a turn-on. Of course, it could be the fact he was only wearing that apron: "we wouldn't want to burn the goods before you get to play Dr. Fellatio," he'd teased. How could he know the site of him made her want to do just that?

"The fact that she left him is less interesting than the why," House responded.

Cuddy froze mid-bite. "What do you know?" House grinned, enjoying how he'd piqued his interest. "Come on, House. I know Nurse James called 911 because he was in diabetic shock in the hotel and that's how they found out about the affair. What else do you know?"

House put his fork down on the table and leaned forward, the grin on his face both curious and infectious. "The paramedics found our dear Dr. Hourani with black circles painted around his eyes like a raccoon and a Daniel Boone coon hat strategically placed on his little critter." Cuddy almost spit her juice out at the image. "Apparently she was on the hunt and setting her traps, and he was playing the rabid raccoon. When he passed out, she used her hunting hat to protect Rocky from the Mounties…or the taxidermist."

"You're making this up!"

He denied it and laughed at her shock. "Face it, Cuddy. You don't attract top talent; you attract freaks."

"Present company excluded."

"I'm speaking of you the hospital, not you the woman," he clarified.

"Naturally," she said, smirking at him.

"The hospital attracts freaks, while you are a freak."

Cuddy propped her chin on her hand and stared at him. "And that so turns you on."

"Damn right," he grinned and held her gaze across the table.

Cuddy couldn't take her eyes off him. It had been so long since they'd talked this way. They'd somehow lost the fun and humor that had become such a trademark of their unorthodox relationship. They'd been trying so hard to be in a "healthy relationship" they'd forgotten the element that made their brand of dysfunction work. The humor; the fun. She reached across the table for him and he took her hand in his. "I don't guess you have any dirt on Dr. Salinger."

"Is he trying to play the board against you again?"

"Never stops," Cuddy answered. "I'd love to have something to really humiliate that guy once and for all."

"Ha!" House responded. "You'd never use it. You'd torment yourself with the knowledge and still put up the good and noble fight."

"Or I'd make certain it was anonymously released to the public and then tirelessly search for the culprit and provide PR to protect him like any other good Dean of Medicine."

"Salinger under your thumb and the board at your feet," House smiled. "I think I love you."

"You don't know?"

"I may need some time off to figure it out."

There was something in his voice that gave her pause. Oh, Crap! He'd just transitioned to serious faster than she could blink.

"You need time to figure it out," she repeated.

His eyes shifted away from hers, but he squeezed her hand lightly. "I need to take some time off to take care of some things," he said.

Cuddy swallowed hard and tried to ignore the nerves pulsing through her. "Away from work, or away from me," she asked.

"Both."

His response was a punch in the gut. She fought to maintain her composure and remain calm. She needed to hear him out. So she waited and watched as he nervously stood and brought his plate to the sink. She tried to find comfort in the view of his bare ass – surely it couldn't be so bad if he was walking around naked and playful – but the nerves were gripping her faster than her logic could sort. He turned to refill his coffee mug before turning to face her. Cuddy waited, but still nothing. He simply leaned against the counter and watched her.

Cuddy felt her heart begin to pound and her stomach begin to turn with anxiety. She struggled to regain her equilibrium. Years of practice had her taking a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and rising from her seat to take control, if not of the situation, of her reaction. She would not show her pain. She would not show her panic. She'd play the game as usual and hope she was passing the test.

"Okay," she said and began to clear her plate and mug from the table. She averted her eyes as she passed him and began to rinse the dishes in the sink.

"Okay?" House questioned.

"I'll put in the paperwork when I get to the office," she said. House continued to watch her.

Cuddy shrugged. She could feel his eyes on her, but she would not look at him. She didn't want him to see how his words affected her. She didn't want to show her fear and confusion. Dammit! She didn't want to feel like an insecure little girl searching to find the right thing to say, the right thing to do. This was how her mother made her feel; she didn't want to feel this way with her lover. But this was House. Of course, he would trigger her insecurities! And then he would read her posture, her expressions; he'd search for some tell that would reveal the entire gamut of emotions she was suddenly feeling.

He came up behind her, slipped his arms around her waist and rested his jaw on her shoulder.

"I'm a drug addict, Cuddy."

She stopped drying her hands and became very still.

"You've got that dreamy look in your eyes, and it's not good," House accused. "I'm not that man you're mooning over."

"House," she turned and sighed, but he interrupted her.

"We've been down this route. You overlook my obvious, very dangerous flaws. You justify why we should give it a chance and build arguments on why we will work, and I want to believe you so I buy into it and go along with it. We can't do this again."

Cuddy felt the air drain from her lungs. "What are you saying?"

"I'm a drug addict, Cuddy," he repeated. "There can never be a day that you aren't one hundred percent certain I could fall. You have to know that I'm one argument, one failed case, one leg cramp away from getting high. You have to know that I can go years without a pill, but it means nothing."

Cuddy could only stare at him. She knew what he was saying, and she knew he was right. She also knew her actions in the past did not reflect her understanding, nor did anything she could say possibly reassure him that she was going into their relationship better prepared this time around.

"It wasn't about the pills! Don't you understand?" Cuddy said. "House, I know I let you down…I let us down."

"That's your guilt talking Cuddy. I'm not here to give your guilt an outlet."

And another blow. Cuddy bowed her head, willing the tears not to come.

House sighed and pulled her close so her forehead rested on his chest. "We screwed up," he spoke into her hair. "We can keep talking about what we did wrong, but if we just keep doing those same things then we'll keep screwing up. I don't want that."

Cuddy looked up at him, eyes wide and questioning.

"You can't save us." His words hung in the air as he gave her a pointed look. "You can't play the hero this time, Cuddy. And you can't control what happens or doesn't happen between us." Cuddy was about to argue, but House stopped her. "Are you telling me you haven't been trying to control this little reconciliation? You haven't been trying to micromanage how we'll do this? Anticipate my reactions and plan yours?"

Cuddy was legitimately shocked. She'd not been trying to control the situation, had she? Or hadn't she? She'd been telling herself not to, had been willing herself not to, but had that translated into her actions?

"I don't know," she finally answered, her voice reflecting the confusion she felt.

House ran his finger along her jaw, and gazed at her with those clear blue eyes that never failed to draw her. "When have you not tried to save me?" He whispered, and brushed her lips in a feather-light kiss. Her heart skipped a beat. "We need to do this right, Cuddy. And, I can't do that unless I take care of some things for me," he said. "And, I have to do it alone."

Oh, wow.

His eyes seemed to search hers. "I haven't given you any reason to trust me, especially not the last few days, but I'm asking to trust me."

Oh, wow.

H H H H H H H H

"You okay?" Wilson asked from across the cafeteria table.

"Of course," Cuddy answered, pushing the salad around on her plate.

"I take it you haven't heard from House."

"Oh, I've heard from him," she answered. "Sort of." The first week he'd been gone she'd been a wreck and a terror at the hospital. Wilson had found it necessary on several occasions to soothe and calm her. He'd let her rant and worry, and would have nothing to say. No answers, no advice, not even clichés. This week she was a little better.

"Sort of?"

Cuddy roughly dropped her fork and sat back to look at Wilson. "On Monday I was paged that a patient was demanding to be seen by me - no other doctor but me," Cuddy explained. "He was a male prostitute, and when he dropped his pants to show me the 'issue' there was a scroll attached to his penis. It read 'This light dims in comparison to Little Greg, doesn't it? He needs an endocrinologist.'"

Wilson tried not to laugh.

"On Wednesday, I received word that the MRI program was not working properly. No matter what key you pressed, the song 'I Want Your Sex" would play. Before I could call the technician, a delivery came for me and the courier said I needed to open it immediately. It was a System Restore CD for the MRI and a note that read 'You didn't think I'd leave you without a fix.'"

Wilson was shaking his head, but chuckling now.

"And today, I found an illustrated book in the budget file I was sending down to be copied." Cuddy paused and caught Wilson's curious stare. "Sextopia: The Ideal Positions for the Perfect Partnership."

Wilson laughed as she rolled her eyes. "You don't seem as angry as you want me to think you are."

Cuddy grinned. "How can I be angry? He's off somewhere detoxing, but he's letting me know he's here…in this relationship with me. He's comforting me in his own way."

"You think he's detoxing?" Wilson asked.

"You don't?" He'd never told her where he was going, but after he'd made such a point about his addiction and needing to take care of things on his own, her mind couldn't help but go in this direction.

"It seems logical. He was clean for almost two years before this relapse."

"And it was my fault," her eyes clouded over at the memory.

"No, it wasn't," Wilson said. "He's an addict. It could have happened at anytime. And, it's not your fault you had a health scare."

"So I've been reminded," she agreed, but still felt guilty.

Wilson chuckled again. "He has a strange way of saying 'I love you.'"

"It's more than that," Cuddy said, and leaned forward to explain. "That male prostitute did need an endocrinologist. House sent him for a reason. He was trusting me to look beyond my reactions and his games, and treat the patient." Wilson took a minute to process what she was saying.

"The MRI machine was proving you can trust him to fix what he's damaged," he said. She nodded.

"And if we can maintain a position of trust over our usual fears…" Cuddy's voice trailed off.

"This is huge," Wilson said.

Cuddy chewed on her bottom lip and nervously agreed.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to trust him," Cuddy answered without hesitation. "I'm going to believe in us."

H H H H H H H H

Cuddy was at home settled into the corner of the sofa, cradling a cup of tea in her hands. She had already changed out of her work clothes and was now comfortable in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. She was reading through a proposal for an Andrology & Fertility Center that had been submitted for her review. She'd need to go over these numbers in more detail before she even thought about presenting it to the board, but it was a good idea.

It wasn't exactly what she wanted to be doing on a Friday night, but it kept her mind occupied, which she desperately needed. She'd put Rachel to bed over an hour ago and had found the quiet was driving her crazy, giving her thoughts a chance to run wild.

The knock at the door startled her and she quickly turned to look out the window to see who could be visiting at this time of night. House! She almost jumped up from the sofa, pushing the papers roughly onto the coffee table. She should have recognized the knock; he always used his cane.

As she swung the door open three things struck her. First, he was wearing a tie, a red tie imprinted with a lasso and cowboy hat. It didn't fit with the leather jacket, jeans and biker boots.

Second, he was holding a bag of coins in his hand…one of those novelty bags with the gold netting and golden wrapped chocolate coins.

Third, he was nervous. His finger was drumming on the bend of his cane as he leaned heavily on it, and he seemed to be chewing slightly on the inside of his lip.

As she processed this information, she noticed his eyes shift as he quickly looked over his shoulder and then at the window.

"You know, there was another time I saw you through this window," he said. "You were sitting on the sofa, drinking tea just like you were tonight."

Cuddy frowned slightly, wondering to what night he may be referring.

"I didn't knock," he explained. "I came to ask you out on a date."

He paused. She waited.

"You looked peaceful."

"So you didn't knock?"

He shook his head. She waited.

"Then there was the hostage situation at the hospital, and you got Rachel…" his voice faded off as he shrugged. Cuddy thought she might have gasped out loud. After she'd lost Joy…after they'd kissed… He'd come to ask her out. He'd… Cuddy suddenly smiled.

"Are you here to ask me out?"

House stilled. Cuddy waited, feeling a little uncomfortable with the sudden giddy excitement she was feeling.

He handed her the bag of coins. "Couldn't find a box of assorted chocolates?" She teased him.

"The chips are off our shoulders," he explained.

"That many, huh?

"I ate the other bag on the way over."

She chuckled and saw him relax at the sound.

"That's some tie," she pointed out, even more curious now at the point he was making.

"Got it at a hoe-down."

The hoedown…college…he thought he'd been tracking her down, but she'd been after him. The hoedown. When they were fearless, bold and passionate, unencumbered by emotional baggage and protective walls.

"Dr. Cuddy?" House asked as her eyes met his in an unwavering, excited stare. "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

She wondered if her expression was as dreamy as it felt.

"I'd love to have dinner with you, Dr. House."

"Not just dinner," he clarified, taking a step forward to lean against the door jam and closer to her. "A date."

"I'd love to go on a date with you, Dr. House."

"A real date," he said. "Where I buy you an obnoxiously expensive meal and ply you with liquor so you don't notice when I look down your top. And I cop a feel on the dance floor and try for third base right there on that couch." He pointed his cane at the window.

"Why limit yourself? Why not a homerun?"

"You're not easy."

"Since when?"

He smiled. "Good point."

Cuddy reached behind his neck and pulled his head down. When their lips met she didn't know who moaned first. She felt herself pulled roughly against his body and his arms come around her, his cane tapping against her ass in a syncopated rhythm. His tongue explored every part of her mouth with a desperation she'd not felt in him since their first kiss in college. She suddenly felt young again, excited, nervous, yet full of hope. He was here, asking her on a date. Her tongue fought for domination, but he pushed her back and quickly broke the kiss to look at her.

"You're such a cock tease."

She laughed and stared at him. His lips glistened with the moisture from their kiss and his eyes were slightly dilated.

"Is it a tease if I'm willing to follow-through?"

"Missed me, huh?" His grin was arrogant.

"It was unbearable," she said. "I had to see a male prostitute just to get by."

"How terrible!"

"Luckily, the MRI was down so we had the perfect place for a rendezvous."

"Was he good?"

"Out of this world," she said, and grinned. "I think we found Sextopia."

"You're going to pay for this," he said.

And she giggled…like a schoolgirl with a crush. "Promise?"

He looked down at her breasts. Her white tank top was almost transparent in the light from the porch and she wasn't wearing a bra. "Don't you have a jacket?"

Cuddy smiled. "Not that I want to wear."

"You hussy!" He groaned and turned to leave.

Cuddy laughed and quickly grabbed his hand to stop him. "Where are you going?"

"I'm being a stand-up kind of guy."

She looked down at his jeans. "So I see."

"You're killing me," he said.

"I missed you," she answered.

Cuddy felt alive at the want in his eyes. There was a different spark in the air between them, something much more dangerous and seductive than she'd every experienced. She felt her heart pump with courage instead of the fear she'd known in the past.

Suddenly he was very close to her again, leaning in to whisper. "You're like Calypso, tempting me onto your island and weaving your spell around me."

The words were low and raw, and so unlike him to say with such seriousness. She felt completely aroused.

"And you don't like that?" She asked.

"I'm with you because I want to be." His astute gaze rested on her shirt again, and she felt her nipples harden in a Pavlovian manner. "I'm with you because I choose to be."

Oh, God, she wanted him. Her body nearly hummed from it. She wanted to take him inside and experience the screaming orgasm sex that only he could bring.

He brushed a gentle finger across her brow and ran it down the side of her face to her lips. "I want you, too."

Cuddy groaned. "Why do I get the feeling you're going to leave me looking for support from my vibrator?

She watched his expression change and knew he was picturing her pleasing herself. "You did that on purpose."

"Yes," she agreed. "I did."

He grinned. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at seven."

"You're kidding," Cuddy said, her smile fading when she realized he really was going to leave.

"Nope." And he turned toward the street where his motorcycle was parked.

"You're a jerk, you know that?" She called after him.

He turned with a look that almost leveled her. "But I'm your jerk."

She watched as he straddled the bike, put on his helmet and started the engine. _Your jerk_, he'd said. He was hers. And they had a date for tomorrow. They were starting anew.

Cuddy smiled when he looked at her again, their eyes meeting in a final stare before he revved the engine and drove off into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. It's very encouraging to hear from you._

_This was meant to cheer up my friend, Vicpei1, but I hope it helps the rest of you get through the next few episodes with as little pain as possible. _

_This is part 1 of their date...it will be continued._

H H H H H H H H

House still couldn't take his eyes off her.

"I'm glad you were able to drive," she teased as he took her hand and walked with her along the sidewalk toward the building.

"I moved the seat all the way back so my erection wouldn't interrupt the steering," he said. "But moving my leg was still a problem."

Cuddy smirked. "Such a charmer."

He grinned as he opened the glass door to allow her to enter. "You're beautiful," he said as she walked past him.

"Thank you," she answered. "You look pretty hot yourself." He always did when he wore a suit. Of course, she thought he was an incredibly sexy man in almost anything he wore…or didn't wear. "You want to tell me why we're here? I thought we were going to dinner."

They were on the college campus, entering one of the liberal arts buildings.

"We are," House said as they entered the elevator, but wouldn't say anymore. He had that mischievous look on his face that intrigued as much as put her on guard.

The first thing she noticed as the doors opened into the large vestibule was the marquis.

"Culinary Arts," she read aloud and looked at House. He was grinning as he gestured to the poster that explained the evening's festivities.

The Pleasure Palate: Sensual Cuisine for a Romantic Evening.

She looked at him curiously.

"We're going for a more hands-on experience."

It turned out the event was an opportunity to learn from a top chef about aphrodisiacs in food preparation. The guests were paired off at prep tables around the kitchen and consisted mostly of couples. There were eight couples in the class; House had wanted to take up position at one of the back tables.

"Hungry?"

The word was laden with innuendo and Cuddy couldn't help but grin suggestively at him as he removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and tied the apron around his waist. "Depends on what's on the menu."

She couldn't help but remember how he'd looked wearing just an apron as he prepared orange crepes two weeks ago. She seemed to be even more aware of him than usual, perhaps as a result of his time away, or his merciless teasing, or because watching him had become an obsession.

"I have no idea what's on the menu," he said, but his boyish excitement was barely contained as he helped her with her apron. "It's food for the libido, how can it go wrong."

"As if you need assistance with your libido."

House leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Who says we're here for mine?"

Before Cuddy could appropriately respond, the chef began his introduction for the evening.

"Welcome to The Pleasure Palate, where we will explore a menu of sensual delights," he said. "I'm glad to see all of you have paired off into couples and are ready to enjoy today's lesson. We hope it will seduce you with the joys of carnal cooking with your partner, and perhaps open your eyes to the possibilities in the kitchen."

The chef detailed what the next few hours would bring and explained they would enjoy their preparations during a romantic dinner after the lesson.

"Proper preparation and timing is everything," he explained. "So we will take a few minutes to go over a tutorial on the tools of the trade you will need to complete your dishes, and then briefly discuss the ingredients we will be using and how best to utilize them to create a taste sensation."

The chef was nothing if not flamboyant, overly dramatic and easily excited when the students asked questions or responded with enthusiasm. Cuddy couldn't help but be amused, and as he began to explain the various knives and their corresponding cut, she neatly organized them on the counter in the order they would be used during the food prep phase. House grinned at her and began pulling out the other tools, utensils and bowls they would need and handing them to her for her to place. He then did the same thing with the ingredients, cleaning them, unwrapping and opening the items, then handing them to her. She caught him leaning against the counter feigning extreme patience as he watched her carefully and strategically place each item.

"What?" she asked defensively. "He said the prep work is the most important step, so we should be properly set-up."

"I would never argue," he answered, and sidled up close to her, his hip brushing against her. "I'm all about the foreplay and placement."

Cuddy chuckled, but returned her attention to the chef as he continued his lesson.

As they began to actually work with the ingredients, House watched her. "It's important the cut each piece the same size," he pointed out to her, and slid behind her. His arms wrapped around her body and his hands guided hers in holding the knife and creating a uniform cut. "This way the pieces cook evenly and the flavors are balanced." With each ingredient he would guide her hands in cutting, peeling, dicing, pressing…He would tease her with words as his fingers lightly touched hers. The chef would explain the aphrodisiac properties of the ingredients and sometimes a little history, but House would add insights on the root compounds and the chemical interactions. As he spoke, he kept up a slow, steady rhythm with his hands as he advised her in low whispers that made her think of his hands on others parts of her body. Despite the other couples working around them and the chef who constantly walked between the prep tables to supervise and answer questions, Cuddy was more than a little turned on.

She should have expected he would spend the evening teasing her. House had set that ball in motion last night when he'd shown up at her door. She may not know what he had planned for the evening, and she certainly would have never suspected a cooking class, but she should have guessed he would pick up where he left off in tormenting her.

Not one to let him win, Cuddy arched her back slightly and moved against him. She was pleased to find she wasn't the only one responding to his little game. It was probably a good thing he had that apron to hide his reaction. She wasn't so fortunate. She suspected her face was beginning to show a flush.

"I think I've got it," she whispered, grinning at him over her shoulder.

"I know," he kissed her temple. "You've always been a master at discipline and structure."

"Which is why you should be preparing curry dressing and letting me take care of this."

He pulled away from her to grab a bowl and began pulling ingredients. She immediately cleaned up after him, even as he expertly blended and seasoned. "You're not measuring," she reminded him.

"Don't have to," he said and dipped his finger in the dressing and brought it to her lips to sample.

She automatically licked his finger, and found her eyes closing in pleasure as the flavors of the sauce hit her taste buds. "Oh my God," she almost moaned.

"Sometimes you don't have to follow a recipe to know when something is right."

She opened her eyes to see him watching her, a look of want and something more mysterious in his expression. He was working through something, moving the pieces around in that magnificent brain. Was it a puzzle or a game? And why did she have to be so intrigued by his every thought and move?

Cuddy cleared her throat and turned back to the table. "Once we get the pastry dough prepared, we'll be all set."

House watched her as she worked, his eyes never wavering. It was almost as if she were his ball, or his cane, or one of the other items he watched and toyed with as he worked through symptoms and lists. And yet the undeniable interest and admiration that remained in his eyes made it so much more. She arched a brow at him, giving him a saucy look, and he responded by coming up behind her again to take her hands and place them into the bowl with his. "It's okay to get your hands dirty," he spoke close to her ear. Cuddy sensed there was an underlying message to his word, but she was completely distracted by the warmth surrounding her and the way their hands worked the dough. Her senses seemed to have a heightened sense of awareness and she felt more alive than she'd felt in a long time. It wasn't just the sparks that seemed to radiate between them. It was the experience. She was having fun.

How many times had they been on a "traditional" date and seemed to just go through the motions, enjoying it, but never quite feeling that sense of thrill that should have been there? How many times had they gone a more unusual route for a date, and ended up in some kind of power play that removed them from any fun? Tonight was different. Tonight there was a freedom in their interaction that was new and exciting.

The chef stopped in front of their table and watched them with a knowing smile. He was providing a bit of history on cooking with aphrodisiacs – something about Casanova or one of the King Louis' or Montezuma – Cuddy didn't care. She could only stare at House's forearms, his hands, his fingers. He had been instructing her on a kneading technique to work the dough for the tart, and now she watched his hands join hers in caressing the concoction in a way that left her more breathless than she should be while preparing food. When he began talking with the chef about chemical compounds and the various stimulants on the brain, Cuddy tried to focus…But, damn him! He was teasing her with subtle hip movements and touches and his breath against her hair. He was going to become more and more outrageous as the night wore on. She just knew it.

As the chef moved to another table, Cuddy turned to look at him over her shoulder. "You're trying to provoke me."

"Provoking you brings me pleasure," he teased and let one of his fingers barely glide across the pulse at her wrist.

Cuddy chose that moment to slide one of her hands away from his to quickly slip between them and cup his crotch. She got her response. He released a hiss through his lips as the blood surged to his groin. "Two can play this game, House," she said, and gave a single stroke for good measure.

"I'll let you finish this up," she said with a touch of singsong innocence in her voice, and stepped away from him. "I'll wash my hands and get started on the Salmon."

Cuddy washed her hands at the sink in the back of the kitchen near the freezers as she thought over the meal plan. They had already prepped the turnips, asparagus, ginger, garlic, lemongrass, and duck. The tatin tart of turnips with smoked duck was more a finger food than a full appetizer course. They wouldn't take much time to prepare. And the asparagus with curry mimosa egg dressing would be quick and easy. It was the salmon she wasn't…

Cuddy almost yelped when his arms came around her to cup her breasts. Why did she always do this? She never questioned who would win their little power struggles when she made her moves, and yet history had shown she was usually wrong in her assumptions. The more she resisted his games, worked for structure, or attempted some semblance of normalcy, the more House felt challenged. He would keep pushing until he got what he wanted. And she wasn't completely sure what he wanted right now. It was more than sex; he knew he could get that. He knew she wanted that. No, it was something else. As he teased her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and she fought for control, Cuddy accepted she would need a new plan of attack if she were going to buy some time to figure out what this game was all about.

"If you can't stand the heat," House whispered in her ear.

Cuddy turned the spray nozzle toward him and doused him with water. "What was that, House?" she asked, grabbing a paper towel to dry her hands as she marched past him.

"Hey," he called out to her, and she turned back to him just as she reentered the prep area. "I told you I was going to cop a feel."

"On the dance floor," she reminded him of the specifics of his promise. "Not when we're supposed to be working."

"This is not work," he said. "It's play! And I adapted the plan."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and turned away, but not before her eyes had caught sight of the handprint on his apron at the crotch, marking him with dough and flour. It served him right, she thought, though he would probably wear it proud. She should probably be surprised he hadn't marked his territory in some way and…

She came to an abrupt halt as she suddenly became aware of the many eyes watching her and the stifled laughter around the room. Looking down, she saw his handprints on her apron, perfectly marking her breasts with a special accent on her nipples.

H H H H H H H H

"What do you think?" House asked before popping the last small tatin tart in his mouth.

"Mmmm," she shook her head at him as she finished chewing. "Delicious."

"You can really taste the duck in these, but I think the texture of the turnips is what really sets it off," he pushed his plate away slightly and leaned on the table. "Nothing tops that salmon, though. The Asian sauce had a great mix of sweetness, but the heat kicked in on the swallow."

Cuddy chuckled at him. "You sound like the Food Network."

"I like food."

"You like to cook."

He shrugged, but didn't debate the point. Wilson had told her how masterful he'd become in the kitchen after he left Mayfield. Unfortunately, he'd not shown her much of that skill during their relationship. Until he'd made her the orange crepes the other morning, she'd hardly sampled his cooking at all.

They had fallen into a comfortable silence as they ate, enjoying the meal they had prepared together. They had a private table on the roof. She didn't know where the other tables had been placed in the building, but she was sure they had the best spot. The dining area was marked with white columns draped with blue fabric that matched the white tablecloth and blue napkins. The small table-for-two was exquisitely set and the waiters – culinary students volunteering to serve for the night – had filled their glasses with a Kir Royal champagne cocktail. With the moon high in the sky and the night clear, it was the perfect romantic setting for their dinner.

House leaned back in his chair and watched her. He'd been doing that a lot tonight…watching her.

"I think our dishes were the best in the class," Cuddy said.

"Always the competitor," he raised his glass to salute her.

"Hello pot! It's the kettle."

"Ah, but it helps to know who you're competing against," he smugly responded.

"It's even better to know when it's not a competition."

"Everything is a competition with you, Cuddy," he said. "You've spent your life being told you're second best – second to Julia, second best in med school, a woman in a man's world always second in your career life - and now you compete with everyone, including yourself, just to prove them wrong."

Damn. She hated when he was right. She hated when he treated her like a differential diagnosis.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to be the best, House," she felt the need to defend herself, even though she knew he was the same way. He was the poster child for the competitive spirit.

"No, there's not," he agreed, but his eyes seemed to bore into hers. "Until you're beating your team members at the expense of your ultimate goal. You have to know the difference between individual and team sports."

"I'm pretty sure I know the difference."

"Do you?" House leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. "When you're competing one-on-one with someone it's all about a personal win. In a team, it's different. You may want to prove you're the most valuable player and show off your skill, but that's secondary to the success of the team. You have to work together to win. A team has to have a common goal and it must be more important than personal gains. They also have to remember why they are there and identify their real opponent. Purpose and goals before personal gain."

"You're coaching me on teamwork?" Her eyes were wide is disbelief.

"I'm just saying the traits that are successful in individual competition don't always translate into a team environment." The fact that this "lesson" was almost laughable coming from him should have intrigued her, but instead she felt defensive.

"As if you are ever a team player, House!"

"We're not talking about me," he said. "We're talking about you."

"Of course we are!" Her tone was more biting and defensive than she intended. "You don't talk about you. It's always pointing out everyone else's flaws and eccentricities and their numerous issues, while you play your little games and deflect, and leave little crumbs about you. Only those crumbs are usually some kind of red herring and not actual insights into who you are."

Cuddy immediately felt guilty for her outburst. It was unfair to make those accusations after he'd been so open with her. But she didn't know how to back track. She didn't know what to say, or what to do, and again she felt frightened by her sudden lack of control.

House took another swallow of his drink while Cuddy stared at him and waited.

"The other couples weren't using their strengths for the team," he finally said. "Most of the time they weren't even working as a team."

Cuddy was relieved that he didn't fight back, but was curious. "And we did?"

"Did we?"

Cuddy stared at him. He was right. They'd started out listening to instructions and understanding the expectations for the evening, but when the others seemed to individually sort through the process, they had done just the opposite. He'd stepped back and let her organize and plan; he'd let her take the lead. But when she needed his expertise, he'd stepped in. When she'd get to serious, he'd tease. When she became focused on the recipe, he'd remind her of the art. She'd thought he was playing a game with her, but he was actually building their team.

"We made something pretty spectacular," he said.

She shook her head and smiled at him. Well, in a way she'd been right. He'd been playing with her, but it had been a teaching game.

He stood and offered her his hand. "Dance with me."

They swayed to the music, her body melting against his as he held her close. She felt content. The night was perfect. He'd been surprising, charming, annoying, and insightful. He'd been House…and she loved it. She loved him.

"I went to a pain clinic," he interrupted her thoughts, and her eyes met his with surprise and understanding. "We've been trying some combinations of more sustaining, slow release drugs. Right now, I'm on a Fentanyl patch, but I'm going to try to use only Ibuprofen for the break-through pain. I'm not sure how that will work. It may take some time to find the right mix."

Cuddy understood how challenging it could be to find the right combination when dealing with chronic pain. It was never a quick fix, and it often was very discouraging for the patient while they tried to find that stasis between pain-free and almost comatose.

"I've started physical therapy again," he went on to tell her. "I'll go two days a week and will work the general exercises into my days during the week."

"That's great, House," she said. "Really, it's wonderful."

He looked away from her and seemed to hesitate before going on. "I was clean for almost two years, but I wasn't really functioning. I wasn't completely focused on my cases. I was trying to find distractions, and then was too distracted for the distractions…then you became my vicodin."

Cuddy didn't know what to say. A part of her knew all of this, had pieced it together. It was what had made her realize her mistakes. But hearing him say it left her with a deep sadness. She didn't want to be his vicodin. She didn't want to be an addiction that made him feel-good, but destroyed him in the long run.

"I'm an addict, Cuddy," he repeated those words again. "I'm also a pain patient. My life is always going to be a delicate balance between the two." His eyes sought hers and held them. "If you are going to be a part of my life, you need to really understand that."

She stopped swaying and stood still in his arms. "IF I'm going to be a part of your life?"

"There's still time to back out."

"Is that what you want?" Her eyes searched his.

"I don't want to hurt you again."

"You will," she stated firmly. "I'll hurt you, too."

"Is that supposed to encourage me?"

"Is that what you need? Encouragement? Or is this just you deflecting?" She challenged.

His eyes traveled over her face, sorting through his thoughts more than searching her expression.

"I want to be with you," he finally said. "But I need to know you are really in this with me…Not just to see if we can work, but to make sure we do work."

Cuddy held his stare, but she felt her stomach churn at his words. That's what she'd said to him when she'd found him on the bathroom floor so close to taking the vicodin. She'd told him she needed to know if they could work…as if it was an experiment and not a step into the future. He'd been cautious from the minute they started their relationship. He'd suggested they see other people, kept them in a bubble in his apartment to bypass the reality of the "real world," and he'd even avoided telling her he loved her. He'd never believed she was in it to stay.

"I love you," she said. "I can't think of a future without you…and I won't even try." She took a deep breath and bravely spoke from her heart. "I want to be with you. I want to be with you when you fight your addiction, and when you fight your pain. I want to be with you when you're afraid and when you're angry, and when you're deflecting and playing your stupid games instead of just talking. I want to be with you when you're a pain in the ass." She brought her hands to his jaw and cupped his face. "I want this to work. But I want to fight WITH you…not just with you."

He grinned as he released a small puff of air, and she smiled at him. She pulled his head down to bring him close. Her mouth teased him, almost touching his, but pulling back, coming close to lightly graze his lips only to pull back again. He smiled and hugged her to him, capturing her lips with a kiss of promise.

They were startled by the sound of a cough, and they both turned to see their waiter for the evening standing off to the side. "Dr. House?"

"Yes," House answered and nodded at the boy, signaling that he could leave. Cuddy looked at him suspiciously as he took her hand and guided her toward the ledge where their desserts had been placed. During the class, they had made espresso and licorice petits pots de crème, and an orange chocolate ice cream. The small cups had been placed on a rectangle white plate with two dessert spoons at each end.

They both sampled a bite from each cup, but Cuddy was mesmerized by his response. He closed his eyes and savored the flavors, humming his approval as he swallowed.

"You really enjoy life," she said, her voice held a tone of surprise.

He arched his brow at her in question.

"I think I missed that about you," she explained. "I thought it was just the puzzles…but it's more than that." She took another bite before continuing. "You analyze everything, break it down to its fundamental make-up and design, and look at it from every angle. But in doing that, you actually experience life on a deeper, more significant level than most people."

House shrugged. "We moved around a lot when I was a kid," he explained. "I never had a chance to really make friends, so the culture and the environment became my friend. I'd focus on the language first then the local customs and folklore…but I always seemed to gravitate toward the plant and animal life in the region. I'd study everything about the land and how it impacted the culture. It kept me from feeling so alone."

She felt sad for the lonely little boy, and yet what a precious gift he'd developed as a result of his pain. She pointed her spoon at him. "This jerk façade you put on is just a mask to hide the truth," she said. "You are not disconnected from life at all. You experience it, and really know it. That's why you can solve the impossible cases. That's what makes you such an amazing doctor." That was also what made him build such insurmountable walls around his heart. His gruff persona was built to prevent others from knowing how much he really did feel.

House turned away from her and looked over the campus, seeming to consider her words, but obviously uncomfortable with them.

"I envy that," she said. She'd wanted to be a doctor since she was a young girl, and yet she spent more time on administrative tasks and teaching responsibilities than she did saving lives.

"You made a choice, based on your own talents and gifts," he said. "And now you torture yourself by placing a lesser value on what you do."

Cuddy was a little surprised at what he was saying.

"Herding cats would be easier than managing a hospital full of pompous, know-it-all doctors who think their specialty is the end-all of medicine," he told her. "And getting a board of directors to stop playing politics and actually make a decision is an even bigger challenge."

How often had he teased her about not being a "real" doctor? How often had she taken his teasing to heart?

"You know, the ingredients in this ice cream are good, but nothing special," he said as he dipped his spoon into the dish and brought out a bite. "Even after we mixed it into a creamy state, it was still just an average dessert." He held the spoon out for her to taste. It was amazing. The way it melted in her mouth, the chocolate strong, but layered with a hint of orange that lingered on the tongue. "It's not until you expose the mix to extreme cold and a pressurized environment that something good results. All that churning and freezing temperature molds the ingredients and changes the chemical make-up to create a pretty spectacular dessert."

Cuddy stared at him. He was gazing out into the night again, considering his own words. She understood he was complimenting her, comforting her. It was a metaphor. The hospital was full of good doctors, but it wasn't until she mixed things up and worked to make the overall structure more cohesive that it became great. He was telling her that she was saving more lives by making sure the doctors had the right structure than any of them would save individually. But she had a feeling that somewhere in the telling, he'd started thinking about his father and the cold, and how he had been molded. That distant, pained look was starting to shroud him and Cuddy wondered at his thoughts.

"Maybe we think too much about what's missing and what's wrong, and not enough on the result," he said in a faraway voice. "Truth isn't bound by a time. It encompasses the past, present and future."

This was how he escaped the pain of the cold. He analyzed, he sorted through puzzles and philosophy. It didn't stop the cold, but it was a distraction. Cuddy wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. She didn't want him just to be distracted from the memories, from the cold; she wanted him to be safe and warm. She wanted him to finally know he wasn't alone. He stood awkwardly in her embrace, but didn't pull away. She kept her face pressed against his shoulder as her hands ran along his ribs and his back.

"Thank you," she finally whispered. He turned to look at her, seeming to understand that she was not just being grateful for his compliment, but for not shutting her out.

House dipped his spoon back into the ice cream and offered it to her, but instead of bringing it to her mouth, he pushed in along the outside of her lips. Cuddy glared at him; but he only grinned, turning to take her in his arms.

"You're welcome," he said, preventing her from reaching for her napkin as he leaned toward her. He ran his tongue along the line of ice cream and nibble at her lips, teasing and nipping, until she opened for him completely. His tongue swept inside her mouth, tangling with hers, and she grew breathless beneath him. House cupped her rear with his hands and pulled her against him, and Cuddy smiled against his lips.

"That's pretty impressive sustainability," she said.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet."

"Promises, promises…"

He grinned and pulled away from her. "Get your purse," he commanded. She almost giggled at him as he took her hand to pull her with him, suddenly in a rush to get home.

"Hey, was this where you and Wilson took those cooking classes," Cuddy curiously asked as he opened the door to re-enter the building.

"Yep," he answered. "Why?"

"I didn't think I was the first date you'd brought here," she teased as she walked passed.

Cuddy was sure she'd feel the sting from that slap to her rear for a quite a few minutes.


	7. Chapter 7

_Warning: Intense Smut ahead…and it's only a start._

_Thanks to Vicpei1 who gives power to the pink. I hope this distracts Absntmindprof from PMSing and sends her hormones in another direction. _

_Thanks everyone for the great reviews. And special thanks to DrDiagnostic for the read-thru, and to FreyaOz just because…_

H H H H H H H H

"Did you get a chance to read the book on Sextopia I left you?"

Cuddy turned quickly, startled. She had left House in the living room opening a bottle of wine while she changed into something more comfortable. He had teased her for being so cliché, but had told her to hurry. But how could she do that when she'd been staring at her lingerie drawer for God-knows-how-long, wondering if she should keep on the robe she'd loosely tied around her naked body, or slip into something more seductive?

"I never got the chance," she answered him.

He leaned in the doorway, the bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses held by the stems in another. He had removed his tie and left the top three buttons of his shirt open, but he was still wearing his jacket.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he made a ticking noise as he shook his head. "That's a shame."

She gave him a sexy laugh. "I'm surprised you thought we needed any guidance in the bed."

He quirked a brow and ambled into the room, "That's the message you got?"

Cuddy watched as he placed the glasses on the side table and pulled the corkscrew from his jacket pocket. She vaguely noticed the pocket was bulging and wondered what else he'd placed in it, but then she became distracted by the movement of his wrist as he twisted the handle to remove the cork form the bottle.

"The Ideal Positions for a Perfect Partnership," he said.

"The book's in the drawer," she gestured to the side table where he stood. "We can look it over together if you need the reference."

He grinned at her, his eyes intense on her. "I don't need the reference, but I wonder if you do."

Deciding there was too much distance between them, she came to join him on the other side of the bed. "I'm pretty sure I can handle any position. I'm very flexible."

House poured the wine into a glass and handed to it her. "It's not about flexibility," he said, and turned to fill the other glass. "It's about knowing your partner." He turned to look at her, glass in hand. "It's about honesty and trust." He raised his glass to hers. "It's about strategy and balance of power."

Cuddy heard the tone as their glasses connected, but her eyes were glued to his. She watched his lips as he took a swallow from his glass and she drank from hers. It was the Cote de Bourg "Les Demoiselles de Falfas", a merlot/cabernet sauvignon blend. Not one of her favorites, but a nice note for the evening.

"We've been playing these games for years," she finally said. "I'm up for the challenge."

She took his glass from him and placed both on the table. Lifting her hands to his face, she fingered the line of his jaw, explored the stubble of his chin. "I love it when you get this look on your face." She ran a finger across his lips. "A kind of machiavellian grin," she said.

His eyes remained intense on her as she rose up on tiptoe and pressed against him, feeling the coiled tension of his body. "Are you sure you're up to the challenge?" he asked.

And so their little battle of wits and powers was beginning. Cuddy grinned at him, a tigress toward her prey. Her breasts pressed against his chest and she gave a husky laugh. "I can give as good as I get," she said.

He suddenly caught both her wrists and pulled them away from him, firmly bracing them at her sides. "But will you," he asked. "Will you accept this challenge?"

House brought his lips so close to hers she could feel his breath on her. But he didn't kiss her, he held her just barely a hair's breath away. "Will you play with me, Cuddy?" He asked. "Will you trust me?" She couldn't move. "Will you be open and fair?"

Cuddy couldn't pull her eyes away from him. It wasn't the first time she'd seen this kind of intensity in him, but it was the first time it had possessed this edge, solely focused on her, unwavering and demanding even as he questioned her. "How much do you trust me, Cuddy?" he asked. He pulled closer to her, running his jaw along her so she felt his stubble on her skin. "How much do you want me?"

She could hardly breathe. This was a House she'd only imagined, fantasized about if she were honest. He was bold, suggestive, unyielding…an energy barely harnessed. He seemed to call forth the passion and power locked deep within her, and she responded with equal boldness. She quickly turned her head to take his bottom lip between her teeth and gently bit. He pushed her wrist behind her back, startling her with the strength of his grip as he pulled slightly away from her. "Always in control," he said, his eyes on her mouth. "Always ready to assert your power."

Cuddy suddenly felt nervous. "What are you doing, House?"

He let go of her wrists and stepped back from her, putting space between them. It wasn't that she felt physically threatened…and yet she was afraid. His eyes met her in a laser stare. "How much do you want this to work?"

She swallowed hard, but didn't respond. Surely he knew the answer.

"Enough to do this my way? On my terms?" He asked, and lowered his chin as his eyes searched hers. "By my rules?"

Cuddy stared at him. She willed herself not to look away. He wasn't asserting any physical power over her; he'd immediately stepped away from her when she'd shown signs of nervousness. He wasn't really asserting any power over her, except for the attraction between them. Yet in many ways this was more threatening to her. She felt anxious…and excited, aroused and afraid. The air between them was incendiary, and she was torn between drawing to his flame and running away.

"Do you want to play against me, Cuddy? Or on my team?"

She didn't look away. What was it he'd said earlier? Individual play was about personal gain, but team play was about mutual success. "What is it you want, House?"

He didn't move. He didn't touch her. He stood very still, his eyes unyielding. "I want to completely know you," he said. "To experience you." His eyes shifted to her neck when she swallowed. "To really understand you."

She wasn't completely certain she was breathing when House brought his hand to her chest and ran his index finger along the portion of her collarbone exposed at the opening of her robe. "I want you to trust me enough to give up that control you hold so tight."

Cuddy was so afraid she almost felt nauseous. This was not what she expected, not what she wanted. "House," she whispered, but he pulled her close to hold her firmly, but gently in his arms.

"Trust me." It was both a command and a plea. The tigress in her wanted to tease and devour, but there was a part of her that – a part she barely recognized – that wanted to know what it was like to be totally possessed by Greg House.

Something in his glance shifted. There was still a sense of power and purpose in his piercing eyes, but underneath the surface was a vulnerability that left her weak in the knees. He was afraid, too. But afraid of what? That she would reject him? Surely he knew how much she wanted him, loved him… She struggled to quickly connect the dots in her brain. There was something more to this. If it were just another game of sexual politics and one-upmanship in the bedroom, he would still be mercilessly teasing her, baiting her, wrestling with her passion. No, this was more. He was asking her to trust him, but he was asking her to prove that trust with a sign. He wanted her willingly give up control, to forfeit the power they both knew she possessed. Cuddy closed her eyes again and let her head fall back. This didn't feel like any game they'd every played. It didn't feel like a game at all, but she sensed this was going to mark a pivotal moment for them.

"Trust me." He repeated, and she opened her eyes to look at him.

"I do," she finally said.

And he lifted her in his arms and onto the bed, placing her near the center. His eyes followed the movement of his hand as it ran along the seam of the robe and stopped at the belt. "We do this my way," he reiterated. "My rules."

Cuddy understood that this was important. She didn't know why, she didn't know what he was doing. This was a true leap of faith into a realm where she not only lacked control of the situation, but very likely control of herself. Would she be able to do this? Could she do it for him?

"I love you," he said, and her eyes met his. Was it possible she was so wrapped up in her own fears and need to maintain control that she was missing a great gift? He'd just freely told her he loved her. He wasn't coerced, or manipulated, or teased into saying it. He offered the words as a symbol of his belief in her, his trust in her. Would she get a greater glimpse into him in the very act of submitting herself to him?

House took her hand in his and brought it to the top of the bed. His other hand pulled something from his jacket pocket.

Her eyes widened as she saw the pink knitted shackles he held in his hand, two wrist cuffs connected by a long thick cord. So that's what was in his pocket. He pulled a cuff through the bars at he head of the bed and trapped her wrist in the padded restraint.

"Wow," she finally said. "This is some game."

He looked at her as he brought her other wrist up for the second restraint. "This is more than a game."

He challenged her, and Cuddy felt her fighting spirit coming alive in spite of herself. He expected her to stop him, to take control and demand they have sex without his little game. This time her fight couldn't be against him, but against herself.

The restraints were in place, spreading her arms wide. Her shoulders drew upward and her robe opened a little further. House didn't seem to notice for he had pulled another set of shackles from his other pocket and was spreading her legs, guiding one ankle and then the other into the restraints.

"You had these in your pocket all night," she asked.

"Nope," he answered. "Just since we got home. They were under the seat in the car."

He must have gotten them when he was retrieving his cane from the floorboard. He stood now and looked at her, his eyes slowly roving over her body. She was spread eagle before him; the powerful vulnerability she felt seemed at war with the overwhelming sense of eroticism.

"Where did you get them?" She asked, the apprehension keeping her talking to avoid actually melting from the nervous anxiety that was rushing through her.

"I made them."

Cuddy laughed. She must have heard him wrong. "What?"

"I made them," he repeated as he removed his jacket and tossed it on the chair in the corner. "There was an old lady at the pain clinic who was always knitting. I was bored and restless, and I couldn't stop thinking of you." House was rolling up the sleeves on his shirt as he spoke and her eyes shifted from his face to his hands and then back again as he spoke. "She offered to teach me to knit. So I took her up on it."

"She taught you to knit bondage restraints?"

"No," he grinned. "She taught me the basic stitches and loops. I found the pattern online."

Cuddy shook her head, amazed at him. "You learned to knit in two weeks?"

"These are the only things I worked on," he explained. "She was limited on the color yarns since she was mostly knitting for her grandkids. I thought pink would suit you."

He moved closer to her, and she felt a sudden surge of excitement and awareness so strong it distracted her from his hand that parted her robe, leaving it to fall open on either side of her. The soft glow of the lamplight illuminated her, leaving her completely exposed to his gaze. She imagined she was his visual feast, laid out before him like a platter, and his eyes were ravaging her.

For some reason none of this was what she expected from him. Not that she didn't know he was extremely open-minded sexually and open for all kinds of exploration. It was more that he seemed to spend so much time and energy ensuring he wasn't emotionally exposed, fostering the image of an insensitive jerk. Such a calculated power play for the purpose of deeper intimacy and not just sex caught her by surprise. She'd been looking forward to making love with him all night. But she'd imagined seducing him, luring him, and finally getting the chance to delight in him as he had her the past few times they'd been together. It was her turn, dammit!

"So, why do you need to restrain me," she asked in false bravado.

"Because I'm going to study you."

Cuddy stared at him.

"I'm going to analyze and explore you…and know you on a fundamental level."

She swallowed hard. Whoa! "I'm going to experience you."

"And you can't do that with my hands free?"

He shook his head in the negative. "No," he said. "You'll touch me and distract me, and won't give me a chance to fully understand you." He ran his fingers up the side of her body from waist to shoulder. "We'd spend time battling for the upper hand and having great sex, but I wouldn't get this chance to really know you."

Cuddy thought back to their earlier conversation, how he experienced life by getting to know it on a deeper level. It made him more aware, more discerning of weaknesses and strengths, of issues and connections. He was going to study her to better understand and connect with her…to know how to connect with her. She felt a profound sense of wonder come over her. He was trying to learn how to be there for her.

He'd always challenged her, but tonight he was challenging her in a way she'd never been challenged before. He dared her to trust him, dared her to bring him out from behind his walls so he could trust himself. He dared her to know him, to let him know her. He was challenging her to trust him, not just with her body or her control, but a knowledge that would forever connect them. There was nothing normal about the thrill of pleasure that suddenly shot through her at the thought of being so exposed to him. Her heart was racing. And when his hand finally reached her jaw and he brought his lips to hers, her breath caught at the taste of that kiss.

She'd been ready for an assault; the simmering, intense, restrained passion had geared her up for it. Instead, his mouth so softly grazed, it was almost like a breath, a whisper poised at the edge of her lips. Had her hands been free, she would have pulled him to her…but she was chained to the bed, with pink, custom-made handcuffs…that he knitted. It felt like a dream.

It wasn't a dream. House was in charge. They were playing by his rules, so all she could do was wait…and receive.

At last he swept his tongue inside her lips. It was a thorough kiss, the kind that plunged deep and explored, and caused your toes to curl. With each stroke of his tongue, her body felt alive and tingly, ready to burst like the fizz from a champagne bottle. God, she wanted to touch him.

Cuddy's breasts grew heavy and her nipples tingled. The muscles in her body seemed to contract. She felt his hand on her collarbone moving back and forth in a steady motion and she felt her body arching toward him, her nipples reaching and almost grazing his shirt. But they didn't. They were hard, and sensitive, and longing to be touched by more than just the air. They almost had a life of their own, fed by the molten lava that was burning through her veins and pooling between her thighs.

This was torture. True torture.

This was how he experienced life, breaking it down to one movement, one component at a time and examining it from every angle until he could anticipate and know the outcome of any given situation. She was stripped of all pretense of control, and now could only focus on how she felt. The feeling of her body trembling in expectation as his fingers trailed down her chest at such a slow pace was barely discernible. But she felt the movement. Her body was tuned in to his every breath, his every touch, his every movement.

When his fingers moved up the slope of her breast to slowly circle the aureole, pausing at each duct and indent, tracing the texture as his eyes watched, she thought she'd never experienced anything so erotic in her life. She also thought she would scream if he didn't…

He brushed the tip of her nipple and she gasped, her breathing haggard. Cuddy caught the slight grin that came across his face. His eyes widened as he toyed with her nipple, and then he cupped her breast as he used the other hand to begin an equally torturous journey along the opposite breast. House was teasing her and tempting her, his touch slow and steady and light. He was insisting on a full reaction from her body, and boy was he getting one. She didn't think her breasts had ever been so sensitive; she didn't think she'd every felt so desperate to be satisfied. Cuddy suddenly felt angry.

If he was determined to shred her composure, to reduce her to a shriveling mess of arousal, he could think again! She may be chained to a bed, but she still had control of her will. She was in control of herself and she was not going to give in. Restraints or no restraints, she was in control. Just because she'd allowed him the illusion…

He was watching her. His hands were still tormenting her, teasing her breasts with that light touch when all she wanted was more. But his eyes were no longer on her breasts; they were watching her expressions, peering into her. She could have drowned in those blue eyes if they hadn't been flooding her soul.

He squeezed her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and Cuddy felt her body rise off the mattress. Sparks shot through her and her legs stretched, her thigh muscles tight as the heat raised another notch between her legs.

The smug bastard! He looked so cool as he studiously tested her reactions. He wanted to know her! To learn her!

"Yes," she said. Her voice was a bit breathless, but she had somehow managed to sound controlled…even though she was spiraling into a black hole of need. He arched a brow at her. "I like it. Isn't that what you want to know? If I like your touch, if I like the way you tease me…if I want you."

"No." He surprised her. "I know what you like. And I know you want me." His hand began that infuriatingly slow journey down her stomach. "I want to know you." His finger dipped into her navel and then slowly circled it. "I want to know the Cuddy you keep hidden behind that wall of control." His fingers journeyed lower, lightly skimming the trim line of hair. "I want to know what makes you tremble." She could feel her body shake with anticipation and raw hunger. "I want to know what makes you gasp." His finger teased at the line at the tip of her slit above her clit. Cuddy's hips jerked forward, calling his fingers deeper into the moist cavern. His fingers stilled as her hips almost writhed. "I want to know how you will respond to different stimulus…how you will react to change."

Good God, he was making her squirm. She couldn't control it. Her body was betraying her, seeking the ultimate satisfaction of an answering need. Cuddy felt the power he wielded over her. It was almost tangible. How many years had this man been her obsession? How many years had she dreamed of him? How many times had he starred in her fantasies? She'd feigned indifference and teased him, played his games and taunted him. She'd been unconsciously pursuing him even before she became aware of her love for him. Her own body, her own heart and mind betrayed her with an intensity that was daunting. She couldn't fight her reactions, she couldn't pretend or hide; she could only lie there, stretched out before him, instinctively offering herself up as a sacrifice in a ritual she didn't understand or appreciate, but needed more than air right this minute.

Cuddy found herself shaking her head back and forth, restless and wanting, angry and hungry, desperate, afraid, excited and more alive than she'd ever been. He touched her clit then pulled back, his eyes fluctuating between her face and her core. Cuddy was helpless to resist the tremors building within her. She saw the glint in his eyes and she summoned all of the strength left within her to speak, to let him know even if her body betrayed her, the spirit was still alive and in control.

"Enjoying yourself?" She taunted in a gasp.

He laughed. "You do challenge me," he said as his hand moved between her legs.

Cuddy screamed out her orgasm

To Be Continued… 


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you again for the wonderful reviews…_

_Let the heat continue… _

H H H H H H H H

Cuddy slowly came back down to earth and opened her eyes to find House watching her intently.

"Proud of yourself?" she asked. Dammit! He'd barely touched her and she'd fallen apart. But he had such a way of building her up with that barely-there touch of his, and that hypnotic stare, and the anticipation…God, the anticipation was killing her.

"You're amazing," he said. What was that in his voice? It was almost like…a sense of reverence?

His fingers were gliding over her skin again. "I love the way your skin heats up," he said. "The flush you get right here." His fingers traced the pattern of the blush along her chest and down her breasts. He bent his head low and Cuddy held her breath. House lifted her breast, cupping the globe and sucked the tight peak into his mouth, teasing her with the easy swirls of his tongue, tasting her as he eagerly laved it. Cuddy moaned, a low, needy sound that seemed to amplify in the soft light of the room.

"This isn't going to work," she ground the words out through clenched teeth. The way he was sampling her breasts with hot, sucking pulls against the rhythmic squeeze of his fingers unnerved her. She suddenly felt so exposed and vulnerable, even as a new wave of arousal stirred within her.

He lifted his gaze and she could see the glint in his eyes as he flicked his tongue across the sensitive tip. "You don't like?"

She glared at him. "You know I like," she said. "I'm talking about this little game. It's not going to work."

"What game is that, Cuddy?" He asked, as his mouth was poised just above the opposite nipple.

"You won't win," she spoke with a determination she wasn't sure she completely believed. "You may restrain me and work your magic to drive me wild, but you'll never control me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he feigned innocence.

"Right," she said sarcastically.

House pulled his body up, his shirt lightly touching the tips of her breasts, as he brought his face to hers. His eyes captured hers in a locked glare. "I don't want to tame you." He kissed her hard, almost bruising her lips as he devoured her with a dark and primal passion.

Cuddy felt an urgency well up inside her and she fully responded to him, her whole body pushing toward him, awaiting his next move. She felt his hands move down her waist and over her hips, not in the gentle touch he'd teased her with thus far, but a touch of controlled power and strength.

House trailed his mouth along her jaw, down her neck to the curve of her breasts and down her ribs. He bathed her with openmouthed kisses that left her body trembling. When he reached her navel, he pushed his tongue inside the indention and she suddenly wondered when it had become an erogenous zone. His tongue moved in and out, which made her think of the pleasure he could – and likely would – be bringing to other areas of her body.

Cuddy began to squirm as he trailed his mouth along her hip, down into the sensitive valley that rode along her hipbone to the juncture between her thighs. She wanted to pull his head lower, to guide him to that place that was crying out for attention, and her hands jerked, pulling against the restraints.

"You're such a bastard," she said and he chuckled.

His lips trailed lower and traced the neatly trimmed line of hair. "That's no way to talk to the man in charge of your orgasm."

His mouth suddenly redirected, and he began to trail kisses down her thigh, the scruff on his beard fluctuating between ticklish and abrasive. Her skin was sensitized beyond reason, her nerve endings firing in an almost painful crescendo. In spite of her immobility, Cuddy twisted against the restraints, her body attempting to guide and direct, or perhaps even pull away. Every sensation in her body was so heightened; she wasn't sure what she was feeling anymore except an overwhelming need and a tangle of conflicting impulses.

Suddenly his hands were on her thighs, prying her legs wider to accommodate him. His stubbled cheeks brushed the skin at her thighs as his tongue dove in for a heated stroke. Cuddy rocked hard against the restraints in a full-bodied motion. He took advantage of the motion and brought his hands beneath her, keeping her hips off the bed and angled toward him. The vantage point must have been better suited for him for he explored every nerve between her folds and down to her anus. His lips were enough set her on fire.

She wanted to wrap her legs around him, but could barely manage the pseudothrusts she was doing. He drew on her with small pulls and Cuddy heard herself moan in response. His tongue created a soft friction that lifted her faster and harder toward arousal than she'd ever been taken before.

When he speared his tongue back into her moist folds, she bucked against him in a motion that defied her previous bravado. There was no way to control her response or even temper it. His tongue lavished her until her thighs vibrated and her sex clenched.

Then he was gone. Cuddy clenched her teeth to prevent the curse from spewing off her tongue. But then his mouth was on hers, tormenting her with an openmouthed kiss that tasted of his need and her pleasure. She felt the bed shift as he slid in comfortably along the side of her and his hand settled between her thighs. He slipped his fingers between her folds and eased them apart.

"How does it feel when I touch you here?" he asked in a rough whisper.

She felt her eyes rolling back in her head and tried to focus on him. "Amazing."

He was close enough so that she could turn her face to his and kiss those lips so capable of pleasure. His blue eyes were gazing at her intently.

"Tell me," he softly commanded. "Tell me how it feels." He slid his fingers along the folds, not touching her clit or venturing further, but seeming to touch every nerve along his path. "Describe it."

How could she describe it? How could words possibly describe the intensity of the feelings shooting through her?

"It's like an ache," her voice was breathy. "Like a feeling of desperation." His fingers moved again and her hips moved toward them, seeking, wanting. She was almost panting. "It's hot and wet and it's pulsing, and…" He skidded his finger backward, sliding across the sensitive bud with a gentle thoroughness that caused her stomach to plummet.

"And now?" House asked.

Cuddy fought to breathe. "Sensitive. So sensitive."

"Here?"

"Everywhere," she gasped when the pressure slightly increased. "I'm sensitive everywhere, but it all seems connected."

"Connected how?"

"House!" Cuddy almost cried out when his fingers stopped moving.

"Tell me," he encouraged.

"Like electricity," she groaned. "Everywhere is wired and it all comes to meet and…" His fingers started moving again in a torturously slow rhythm. "It feels like I'm going to explode."

House probed inside just the tiniest bit and she released a silken moan.

"Can you control it?" He asked.

Damn him! He withdrew with a lingering stroke that made her body arch, but then he pressed a little farther this time. The heel of his palm massaged her with deliberate pressure and she felt the familiar waves of pleasure course through her. "You know I can't," she finally answered.

"And that bothers you?"

Cuddy almost laughed. Did it bother her to have an orgasm? "Not at all," she said. Or did it?

House eyed her with a gaze that saw straight inside as he thrust his finger into her heat in a deliberate stroke. She couldn't stop the moan from escaping her lips. Cuddy had never blazed so hot before and she found herself craning toward him, needing to kiss him, to extend the intimate connection between them. She wanted to taste him, to feel him, to know that he was with her, feeling something too, even as she was on the precipice of falling apart.

Thank God, he didn't tease her. He brought his mouth down on hers hard, his tongue plunging inside with a desperateness that proved he was indeed affected by the moment. While he made love to her mouth with devouring kisses, he made love to her body with hot caresses. Cuddy rode his hand, seeking to coax her orgasm into breaking. But House wouldn't allow it. Just as she'd feel the waves reaching toward the peak, he would remove his hand and pull back from their kiss to watch her. Dammit! He was going to tease her. He was going to torment her. A part of her understood he was learning her, memorizing the way she responded to him. Taking in every bit of information about her he could retain. It was as if he was cataloging every emotion, every tremor, every moan and inflection. Another part of her grew angry, restless and desperate for release.

"Please," she heard herself plea, though she hardly recognized her voice.

He brought his lips to her cheek, giving a gentle peck before leaning toward her ear. "You want to cum?" he asked.

"Yes," she cried out. She didn't care how pathetic she might sound. She didn't care if she was begging.

He drove his finger deep inside her core, curling the tip and tapping lightly before moving in harmony with the grind of her hips. And there it was…the rush of heat that shimmered through her, radiating everywhere until she was barely aware of anything except pleasure. She had a vague sense that she'd forgotten to breathe, but then he kissed, a gentle whisper of a kiss against her lips.

Oh, God. She almost groaned.

Cuddy forced her eyes open to face his look of male triumph, to prove she still had some semblance of control in spite of the weak body that currently sagged against the restraints. She found his eyes on hers, searching them, before a glimmer lightened them and transformed his expression. This was not triumph. It was a sense of awe, a sense of wonderment, and a smile that softened the harsh lines of his face.

House was pleased - very pleased - and he appeared more relaxed than she'd ever seen him. But why?

He stood and began to unbutton his shirt. Her eyes took in the width of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, the light dusting of hair at the center of his chest. She couldn't take her eyes off him. And he didn't take his eyes off her. They roamed her body, his lips slightly tilted in an almost lecherous grin. "You're still so strong, so determined," he said.

"You're not going to break me, House."

He laughed. It was a laugh she'd never heard from him the whole time they'd known each other. It was a full-fledged laugh from within, and she wondered what she'd said or done to provoke such unrestrained enjoyment. She wondered what was going through his head.

She didn't wonder long…because she couldn't think for long. He wasn't letting up. He was going to kill her with multiple orgasms.

House settled himself back between her legs, his shoulders bracing them apart as his face aimed where she was still most sensitive. He lowered his face and Cuddy closed her eyes, willing herself to relax in the restraints. He softly blew against her heat, and she bit down on her lower lip.

He sunk his fingers into her bottom again and lifted, slowly dragging his tongue from back to front…

_Oh, my!_

He was intent at proving his point, at proving his superiority. She wasn't sure she cared anymore.

He'd always been good…who was she kidding? He'd always been beyond fantastic with his tongue. But tonight, he was reaching epic proportions as a pleasure hero. His exploration had a thorough deliberation that went beyond curiosity and puzzles to reflect a deeper part of him. She found herself hungry to discover more. To open herself up for his complete study just so she could further examine this unchartered territory. But that was her last coherent thought.

He swirled his wicked tongue around the bundle of nerve endings that shouldn't have reawakened so quickly and her brain ceased to know anything but desire.

Yet, his attention never wavered.

He maneuvered her so his tongue could go deeper; he explored, and tasted, and tested, and teased until she lifted her hips high and released a loud, throaty moan. He was relentless. His tongue slid to her clit and he sucked it tight between his lips at the precise moment his finger pressed into her core. Cuddy found herself riding his face. House reached his other hand up and cupped her breast, his palm against her nipple driving the electrical current throughout her body from head to toe.

Cuddy couldn't believe the intensity of her reaction, the raw emotions that seemed to be accompanying her pleasure. Her muscles were weak, her nerves hummed, her heart was beating so fast her breathing became quick and shallow. She was a quivering mass of nerve endings when she felt the vibrations between her thighs and at the heart of ecstasy.

House was humming, or growling. She didn't know which; she didn't care. Her pleasure had mounted and all thought and functionality was removed. Her pleasure rose higher and higher, and her world crashed around her in a tsunami of complete satisfaction. She came apart again and again and again, more flushed and out of control than she'd ever imagined she could be, and never wanted to admit. But her body gave her away, didn't it?

She felt his arm come around her as he settled in at her side again, but she was too spent to open her eyes.

"You never break," he whispered, and Cuddy lay perfectly still. "No matter what I say, what I do, no matter how hard I push." His hand came to caress her jaw, his finger running along her lips. "Your expressions, and your thoughts, and even your body may betray you, but your spirit is never broken."

Her eyes fluttered open to look at him. "Even now," he said. "Exhausted and thoroughly satisfied…" There was that male pride! So impressed with himself! "Your control is rallying. You're pleased and content, and yet you're unconsciously preparing for a counterattack." His eyes captured hers, locking them in a stare. Cuddy held her breath. He was talking as if he'd solved a puzzle, as if he was explaining a diagnosis, but his eyes were admiring, adoring even. "You never really lose because you never stop fighting."

She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She was drowning in the blue of his eyes and the depth of their shared emotions. Her mind struggled to fully process his words.

House kissed her lightly before reaching down to unfasten the restraints at her ankles. She watched as he massaged her ankle and calves with slow, solid strokes, as if working the tension from the muscles. But there was no tension. She was completely relaxed…replete and comfortable…and fearless

Ironic. She'd been afraid to give up control, to hand over the reigns and let him take charge, but she'd pushed herself. She'd let him restrain her and take the lead, believing that this little exercise was a lesson in the pleasure of letting go. And she couldn't deny that lesson had been learned. She was fully satisfied, with no regrets. Yet, as she watched him gently care for her, she realized that had not even been his goal. This wasn't about controlling her at all.

House had pushed her beyond the limits of any pleasure she'd ever known. He'd removed her ability to control the situation, pleasured her body to the point of betrayal, and brought her to a place of incoherent thought only to prove that her spirit would never be broken. He had restrained her to prove that she was safe.

He moved up on the bed to remove the restraints on her wrists, and Cuddy felt her eyes fill with tears. As he released her, and thoughtfully soothed away all her imagined aches, she was overtaken by the enormity of the meaning behind his actions. _Words don't matter_, he'd said and he believed that. And, now he was speaking through his actions, telling her that she never had to be afraid. As wild and unpredictable, as dangerous and insane as he was, she was the formidable opponent that made his perfect partner. She didn't have to control the game board or the movement to be safe with him. She didn't have to predict his moves, or plan strategies. She didn't have to fight him for control. She could take things as they come and take him as he was. She could trust herself…just as he trusted her.

Cuddy sat up in the bed, her arms and legs free now, and turned to face him, taking him in her arms to hold him tight.

"I understand," she said, and felt his arms tighten around her waist.

He believed in her; he believed in them. Now, she could let go of her obsessive control and believe in them too. She wouldn't lose everything - as she'd feared for so many years - but would gain so much. She'd gain the safety of his love, and the strength of his partnership. She'd gain the thrill and excitement that was so much a part of who they were as a couple. In their trust, they were a team.

"How do you feel?" he broke the silence of their embrace.

"Amazing," she said, and leaned back to look at him. "As long as you tell me it's my turn."

"You want to tie me up and devour me," he grinned.

Cuddy chuckled.

"I want my turn," she said with a sexy grin. "My way. My rules," repeating his words.

House stared at her wide-eyed. "Oh, Yeah…" he grinned in enthusiasm. "Cuddy as dominatrix! There is a God."


	9. Chapter 9

_Wow. Thank you for all of the amazing reviews and the notes you've sent. I'm so glad you are enjoying this story and the way they are reuniting. _

_Cuddy's Turn…_

H H H H H H H H

Cuddy chuckled as she pulled herself off the bed to stand and offer him her hand.

"Are you taking me to your dungeon? To your secret pleasure chamber?"

Cuddy laughed, enjoying his boyish enthusiasm and playfulness.

"You're overdressed," she said, as she pulled him to stand before her.

Cuddy skimmed her fingers along the vee of his ribs, over the light patch of hair at the center of his chest and across his pebbled nipples. House stood before her, his pupils dilated and his nostrils slightly flaring as she touched him. The bulge at his crotch had been growing throughout the night and now was pushing so hard against this zipper it was removing the pleats in the slacks. He had gone to great lengths to play his game, to protect himself from the temptation of rushing, so that he could make his point. Would he be so patient as the student? Would he be so willing to show self-restraint and discipline to achieve her goal? Cuddy suddenly felt inspired.

He had spent an inordinate amount of time pleasing her and teaching her the lesson he believed would be most important as they attempted to restart their relationship. She wanted to do the same thing. It was only fair, after all. Fair to him certainly, but fair to her as well. She had a chance to similarly teach him, but she wasn't sure the same technique would do the trick.

Cuddy pressed her mouth to the curve connecting shoulder to neck, and she felt him shiver.

"Do you like that?" she asked, deciding a little teasing to start may be in order.

House didn't respond, but closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That was a yes.

Rising up on her toes, she brushed a kiss to his mouth, pressing her body full against him until her breasts molded to him. At the contact, a deep-throated sound came from his chest and she couldn't help but feel pleased that he was as sensitized, aware and attuned to her as she had been to him. Cuddy slid her hands slowly down his chest, her lips following in a trail of kisses. When she reached his tiny, pebbled nipple, she nipped at it and he exhaled sharply, making her smile as she continued her downward trek. She moved her lips down his abdomen, dipped her tongue into his navel and moved lower, until she was forced to deal with the obstruction that blocked her path.

She made quick work of unfastening his belt, and was soon levering that impressive erection free from his pants and boxer-briefs. House shifted his hips to assist her, and the fabric dropped to the floor.

"Sit," Cuddy said, and pushed on his chest to guide him down onto the bed.

"Yes, Mistress."

Cuddy grinned as she watched him sink down, his thighs spread and erection jutting. Dipping to her knees before him, she removed his shoes and socks, and the fabric from around his ankles. She was practically eye level with his groin, and she knew he was expecting her to go for it, to at least provide a little tease. But she was determined not to be so predictable this evening.

"Now lay down," she said, finding it ironic and a little exciting to be in such a submissive position while issuing orders.

House immediately jumped up and onto the bed, spreading out across the center to leer at her. "I'm ready for my punishment."

Cuddy held back her laughter. He was far more enthusiastic about being restrained than she would have imagined. He had spent all that time teaching her that it was okay for her not to take control all the time, and now he was anxiously awaiting it. He was encouraging her to go back to her comfort zone; she hoped he'd be willing to step out of his. All the dreamy satiation of a few minutes ago melted away as a plan began to formulate in her head.

Cuddy let her eyes slide across his body. "Go ahead," he said. "Have your way with me." His cocky grin told her he'd read the desire on her face.

She crawled on top of him to straddle his thighs. "I'm not going to restrain you, House," she said as she pushed his wrists into the mattress and hovered over him. "My way is a little different, and my rules a little more involved."

His eyes widened slightly, surprised and curious. "Here's how this is going to work," she explained. "You're not going to touch me. Not because you're tied to the bed, but because it's a rule."

He smirked, "And you know I follow rules so well."

Cuddy brushed a kiss along his neck. "You'll follow this one," she said confidently.

"Why's that?"

"Because it's a game; because you're curious. Because it's in your best interest," she said. "Because you want to win the prize." She rotated her hips for impact, and grinned when she noticed the slight intake of air through his lips. "You're not going to touch me unless I tell you to, and then you'll only touch where I tell you. You're going to let me have total control. When I ask a question, you'll answer honestly. No deflection. No distraction."

"This is not a game! You're Medusa luring me into your chamber of pleasure," he said with dramatic inflection. "One look and I turn to stone and you prove your ultimate power."

"Well, you are rock hard," she solemnly agreed.

"You are evil."

"Shut up House."

"Nice," he grinned. "Is this foreplay? I don't want to miss it, Oh Evil Temptress."

Cuddy stared at him. What was this? Why was he suddenly so flippant and sarcastic? A slow grin came across her face as she said, "You're nervous."

"Yes," he said, sarcastically. "Having sex with you always…" She leaned down to kiss him, boldly exploring that rogue tongue.

When she felt him melt beneath her with a soft moan slipping from his lips, she sat up and locked eyes with him. "Will you play with me, House?" She teased him with his own words. "Will you trust me?"

House froze beneath her. His eyes searched hers and she found herself holding her breath, awaiting his response. It was almost as if she could see him anticipating her moves, formulating her counterattacks and computing the various outcomes. He was as intrigued as he was nervous and she liked the sudden hint of vulnerability that came over him. She liked his reaction, liked that he wanted her beyond his reason, liked that – right now - their world felt right. She liked that for the first time she felt sheltered and safe within the power of his desire.

Cuddy gently ran her fingers along his stubbled jaw. "Trust me," she whispered.

House had made it his life's calling not to trust, and certainly not to ask for permission. His rebellion against authority was an innate part of his make-up. She was asking a lot of him to play this game, to not only let her have control, but to agree to play by her rules. But, they both knew this night was about so much more than games, and for that reason he would be fair.

He closed his eyes, but he must have made a determination. "Ok," he said.

Cuddy leaned into him, kissing her way along his jaw. She dragged her tongue along his skin, and slid her fingers through the hair just above his ears. Then she began her journey. She traced his neck, then his shoulders, skimming her palms down his chest, memorizing, enjoying. Her touch was light and teasing as she traced the line of muscles and bones, her lips tantalizing as they nipped along that same trail.

What was it about this man that made him so irresistible? He'd captured her attention over twenty years ago, and though the years had passed and their relationship had taken on different faces and personalities, he'd always been her secret desire. She wanted him to know how deeply he affected her, how much she adored him. She wanted him to gain confidence in her. But more importantly, she wanted him to be pleased that he'd given them this chance, an assurance that it would be worth the effort. She wanted him to feel safe with what they shared, something they'd never had in the past.

Cuddy moved her hands along his waist and down his legs as she moved to the bottom of the bed. She ran her hands along one of his feet and then began to massage his arches. House was still. His palms were flat against the mattress, but his face held a tension she would not have imagined.

"Do you like this?" she asked.

"Not as much as I like seeing you naked."

Deflection. So he liked it, but wasn't willing to admit it because he was feeling vulnerable.

"Should I get dressed?" She asked, and her fingers stilled on his foot.

His head jerked back in surprise and he stared at her.

"The rules say no deflection," she explained, simply. His eyes thinned as he glared at her. "As flattered as I am, I believe the response should be 'I like it; I'm just not used to being cared for.'"

"At least not without paying," he flippantly corrected. Cuddy paused to glare at him.

"Sorry," he quickly said, and averted his eyes. "If you know the answer, why do you ask?"

She moved to get off the bed.

"Don't." He quickly said, and she turned to look at him. He frowned at her. "You're really cracking the whip here…"

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Not metaphorically!"

Cuddy laughed. "Play fair, House. You may get your fantasy, yet."

House sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "You're killing me."

"No, that's not the plan." She began massaging his foot again. In spite of his pretense and reticence, there was something decadent about being poised before him, both of them naked and wanting, but taking the time they needed to savor and explore, to reinforce the foundation of their relationship.

He looked at her with tender, resigned eyes. "I like it," he admitted.

Cuddy explored his heel to his instep with deliberate motion, massaging pressure points until she felt the tension release. She then started over with the other foot.

House seemed to make a decision to enjoy the moment, closing his eyes while she worked her way up his left leg. His muscles were tight from the pressure they took to compensate for his limp, and likely from his return to physical therapy. He'd probably start getting regular massages again. She couldn't help but wonder who he'd hire. She moved to his right leg. As much as she knew he loved her, and wanted her in his life, his tendency toward hookers to meet his personal needs continued to be a thorn in her side. It wasn't jealousy; it was the message behind the act, the symbol that he wasn't comfortable with her place in his life. He hadn't completely identified and defined her role as his partner other than the superficial meaning of "girlfriend." He loved her, and needed her, but with those feelings came fear and a kind of distance that she'd not been able to bridge.

When she reached the scar on his right leg, she felt him tense. "Does that hurt?"

He wouldn't look at her, and he paused long enough for her to wonder if he would respond. "No," he finally answered. She knew he was still uncomfortable with any attention to his leg. He was sensitive to all it represented, not only as a handicap but also as a reminder of what he'd become as a result. As much as he put on airs and denied any change, he hated the way the infarction and resulting pain had accentuated the anger and bitterness. He was already haunted by a past she was only just beginning to see, much less understand, but this handicap made it difficult for him to see beyond the pain and resentment. It made it difficult for him to receive love and affection.

"Do you know how often I dreamed of touching you over the years?" She moved her hands to cup his thigh, moving her thumbs along the exterior of the scar. As she worked the muscles, feeling them ease as she moved her hands in an upward motion, she allowed her fingers to graze his testicles. His erection jumped as if a live current had surged through him.

"No," he answered her.

She pulled her body up, her breasts lightly skimming his skin and hovering over the scar. Cuddy caught him watching her intently.

"You like that?"

"Yes." His breath seemed to catch as she moved against him.

"I bet there's something you'll like even more."

And she slipped her fingers beneath the delicately puckered skin at the top of his thigh, cupped him gently while bending forward to drag her tongue along the underside of his length. She could feel his pulse as his erection swelled against her lips, and he emitted a low groan that sent a thrill through her.

Until House, Cuddy had never known that her ability to make such a strong, arrogant man quiver at her slightest touches could make her whole body yearn. She hadn't realized she could want so much, and feel such power from pleasuring him.

Kneeling over him, poised over his erection with her hair spilling over his thighs, she slipped her head down for another taste. Starting at the base, she sucked gently on his sack, before using her lips to nibble her way to the perfect tip.

His eyes had shuttered closed and his chest was heaving as she drew on the hot erection with first a short and then a long sucking pull that caused him to release a gravelly moan.

"How does that feel?" She asked, and then ran her tongue along the tiny slit.

House gasped, but began listing off the symptoms. "Heavy, pounding, up and down like a heart beat…"

"No," she said just before dragging her tongue down the underside. She almost chuckled as he stared down at her with a look a pure bravado. She recognized the look because she'd been playing the same game ever since he'd restrained her. "Not physically," she explained. "What do you feel?"

He had wanted her to describe the physical sensation, to help him learn and experience her at an elemental level. She wanted something more. She wanted to know his underlying emotions. She wanted to know he understood this was more than a primordial response between them. More importantly, she wanted him to identify what made their passion different.

"Amazed," he finally said as she took him fully in her mouth. "In awe." Cuddy pushed closer to him, her whole body was involved in the slow, steady up and down movement, and her breasts created a rhythmic friction along his inner thigh.

His voice was hoarse, and it excited her. "Why?" She asked as her hands circled the base in a movement perpendicular to her mouth.

House released a moan from deep in his diaphram. "God that feels good."

Cuddy opened her mouth wide and slipped her tongue out to lap at him, slowly circling his hood to mirror the motion of her hand. She watched him as she moved, maintaining the light pressure and motion as she awaited his answer.

"Why are you amazed?" She asked again.

He was watching her mouth move on him, his eyes following the movement of her tongue. "You seem to enjoy it."

"I do," she said, and smiled at him. "That surprises you?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"Why?"

"Cuddy," he growled in frustration. She was keeping him aroused and sensitive, but her touch remained too restrained for any form of release.

"Talk to me," she gently encouraged. "Tell me what you're feeling."

Something in his eyes cleared, even as the cloud of passion remained. Cuddy forced herself to maintain eye contact and keep the pace, silently willing him to understand.

He believed that words didn't matter. He was wrong. Sometimes words were required to clarify and define, or explain. Some things should never be left up to interpretation or chance understanding. Sometimes you needed to hear the truth to have confidence in what you have only believed to be true. House was good at speaking the truth when it was about the thoughts, beliefs and motivations of others. But when it came to sharing his own truth, he hid behind that infernal wall of his, keeping everyone at a distance…including her. She didn't want to guess anymore. She didn't want to infer the truth by his actions, especially when his actions were so often convoluted and contaminated by rebellion and pain.

Cuddy saw his hands grip the sheet slightly and knew a puzzle piece had just fallen into place. He needed to make a choice: control the situation behind his usual façade, or play fair, by the rules, opening himself up to exploration. He was most open and vulnerable when they were having sex, and never more so than right this minute. She knew she was taking advantage of that vulnerability, and taking a huge risk. But just as he'd asked her to willingly forfeit her control, she was asking him to willingly expose his heart to her.

"I can't believe you want me," he finally admitted in a graveled voice, full of untethered emotion. "You never hold back when you go down on me. You're brave and unafraid, and completely comfortable in such submissive position." He lifted his hand to touch her hair, but stopped himself as if remembering the rules. "I don't deserve it."

Cuddy was taken aback by his admission. She wanted him to feel her love, to know she found him more than deserving.

She began a rhythm that no man could resist, and found herself humming at the way his hips began to buck toward her. Each down stroke on his erection made her ache, made her sex clench and her body weak with pleasure. No man had ever made her feel this way. She wanted him to understand the awe he felt was reciprocated. She wanted him to know what they shared was rare, and precious, and a treasure beyond compare.

She continued to please him. Every stroke she made had its counterpart between her thighs as her sex clenched greedily, seeking more of him. What was it about him that made the very act of giving to him a gift she herself received? She wanted more. She wanted to crawl on top of him, feel him stretch and fill her until she exploded again. But this wasn't about her wants, or her needs. This was about him. This was about loving him, and awakening him to the beauty that would overcome his fears and doubt.

House lifted his hips to meet her mouth, grinding out pleasured sounds with each thrust. She wasn't the only one with control issues. He appeared to be determined not to lose it, not to let go and embrace his release. Perhaps he wanted to savor and enjoy, to experience this connection to it's fullest. Or maybe he was just holding out for her, ever curious to see where she would lead.

Cuddy moved out from between his knees and crawled up his body to straddle him. It would be so easy to sink down onto his fullness and with a downward thrust feel him inside her, feel how perfect they fit together. But this was about more than the raw need she felt.

"What do you want, House?" she asked, staring down at him as her hands slid back up his torso to rest on his chest.

He was gripping the sheets as he instantly responded, "I want to touch you."

Cuddy moved her hands to grip his wrists, guiding his hands from the mattress to the top of her thighs. "You may touch my thighs," she said. "Only my thighs."

House groaned in frustration, but followed her instruction.

Cuddy reached between her legs to grip his penis and moved her hips to guide it along the wetness at her slit. "God, I love how wet you get."

"How wet you make me," she corrected. She leaned over him so her face was right above his and she continued to move against him. His breathing quickened.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

His eyes never left hers. "Because it's a tell. It's a sign you want me."

"You always make me wet, make me want you." Cuddy knew that kind of talk would drive him crazy, which only supported her point that words do sometimes matter. She slid down and bit slightly on his chin. "And you like knowing that I want you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

House squeezed her thighs hard enough to make her yelp as he drove his hips higher, seeking out her heat. "Because I'm not alone."

She gave him a sexy smile. "You're not alone," she agreed.

Cuddy arched her back and slid her breasts along his chest in a cat-like move as she brought her hips to hover at the top of his erection. House was trembling. She instinctively knew his control was slipping beneath his desire to be joined with her. She was surprised that he continued to indulge her, abide by her rules and let her keep the control. But she only gained from such self-discipline if it had a purpose beyond the discipline itself. It was so easy for her to get wrapped up in the control, in the rules and instruction, and miss the point. None of it matters unless it helps them meet their common goal.

Cuddy paused, lingering just at his tip, and she looked at him.

"What makes me different?"

House lifted his eyes to look at her, a frown shadowing his face. He seemed to be struggling to regain his focus, torn between passion and confusion.

She tilted her hips slightly so he was nestled at the entrance of her core.

"What makes our sex different from what you pay for?"

House jerked, as if she'd slapped him, but Cuddy remained still, determined. She hadn't intended to bring it up, and it could be a mistake, but she needed to hear him acknowledge that what they had was special, that what they shared could not be so easily replaced. Even though she knew he'd used them as a distraction, as a brand of anesthesia, it still hurt that he'd so quickly called hookers when she'd broken up with him that fateful night. She needed to know he wasn't pretending and reducing what they shared to something more easily controlled and disregarded, something that wouldn't hurt. She needed to feel confident that he truly understood and accepted what they were together. She needed him to say what she already knew.

Cuddy saw his jaw tighten, even as his eyes glossed over in a spectrum of emotion. He seemed shocked, almost shaken. His eyes shifted quickly back and forth, processing, sorting, defining, and she felt certain he was finally accepting that his action didn't always correspond with his intention, his behavior didn't reflect his emotion.

"You make it different," he said, his voice cracking beneath emotion. "I don't think of them…I don't imagine a life with them…or care about them. And, I never feel like I may die if I don't touch them."

This was more than she expected, less than she wanted, and it could be all he was capable of giving right now. Cuddy followed the line of his Adam's apple as he swallowed hard and felt emboldened by his words. He did know the difference; he did understand.

"Touch me," she said.

And House didn't waste time. His hand slid from her thigh, up her abdomen, to her breasts. He cupped them, molding them with his hands, teasing the nipples with his thumbs as he watched her rotate her hips against him.

"You're so beautiful," he said, and she lowered her hips a little more so he could inch a little farther inside her. "That feels so…"

Cuddy pulled back a little, ready to tease him, but he would have none of it. In an inspired move, he grabbed her bottom and flipped her over onto her back. Her whole view changed as his shoulders and chest blocked out the world, and his gaze bore into her with a hungry, almost desperate expression. He lowered his face to whisper in her ear. "You feel like home."

She lost her control…and she didn't care. In one flip, he'd forfeited the game; in one sentence, he'd declared he understood her lesson.

He positioned himself to strike into her heat and pried her legs wider. "You're not supposed to touch me," she said with a gasp, but her heart wasn't in it. She didn't want to argue the merits of this game, not with his thickness prodding her. Not when he pressed in just enough to test their fit, to make her gasp at the feeling of fullness as he pushed in a little more.

"There's something better than rules and control and discipline," he said.

House sank inside her with a slow, thorough motion that radiated through her body. She spread her thighs to invite him deeper, and hooked her ankles around his hips, but that one thrust became almost agonizing in its deliberation. Her whole body coiled with an urgency to move. But House had stolen her breath, immobilized her with an intentional slow thrust that would not only awaken every remaining dormant sensation, but increase the intensity to an unbearable level.

"You want to know how I feel," he whispered as he lifted out of her. "You want words on top of action."

"Yes," she openly admitted, and he smiled at her gently.

He caught her mouth in a kiss as he sank back inside her. He slipped his arms under hers to cradle her against his hard body then pulled away to look her in the eyes. "I love you, Lisa Cuddy." He kissed her nose, and her cheek, his body tense and controlled over her. "I love you."

And with that, he surged into motion. All the carefully restrained passion unleashed in an explosion of motion. He took her hard, each thrust pulling him almost completely out before he plunged even deeper. Each move of his hips was perfectly in tune with hers. It was exhilarating and overwhelming. She could hardly believe the tension swelling inside her was about to take her to an even greater climax than any this night…or perhaps any she'd ever known.

He held her and kissed her and made love to her with a ferociousness that thrilled her. His body was taut in a scrumptious explosion of hard muscle, and she could only marvel at the surrender she felt as he guided their pace with energy and strength. He came with a growl while his driving thrusts pushed her over the edge with him. He rode her as she moaned out her orgasm, her sex clenching in wild bursts, her body spinning beyond her control.

Cuddy couldn't move. Her heart pounded and she could only lie beneath him, stunned and sapped of all strength even as a new energy rushed through her veins. "Wow," she said and held him close to her, relishing the moment.

House chuckled, and the vibration in her ear almost tickled as he pulled her into his arms. He rolled over and tangled his body around hers, his warm muscles and long limbs beneath her slim curves. She draped across him, listening to the sound of his breathing, the beat of his heart. His hand smoothed along her spine, tracing the dip and slope of her skin, and the movement soothed her, relaxed her. _You feel like home_, he'd said. _Home_. Cuddy couldn't help but smile against his chest. She knew how he felt. House was her home.

"Cuddy?" He said, tentatively breaking their silence and bringing her out of her reverie. "Sex like this only exists with you."


	10. Chapter 10

_I apologize for the delay in updating. Family tragedy demanded my focus. Thank you for the feedback and for being so patient._

H H H H H H H H

"Stop brooding," Cuddy said and snuggled deeper into his arms.

They were curled up in bed, her back to him as he spooned her, his fingers gliding up and down the curves of her side from breast to hip. They'd been enjoying the quiet contentment of satiation until just a few moments ago when she sensed a shift in his mood. He never stopped thinking, never stopped analyzing…well, except when he was inside her.

"I'd have to stop breathing," he answered. "Then you'd have to call 911 and explain how you rode your best diagnostician to certain death."

She laughed and pulled his hand around her, nestling it between her breasts. "You don't have to think so much. We're okay," she said.

"That's what you said the last time."

Cuddy froze. She had told him that. She'd told him everything was okay, to stop analyzing everything and let it be nice. In doing so, she'd not given his concerns and fears a voice, and she'd denied them the chance to develop a preemptive plan. She'd wanted to just let things happen and see where it went, but that didn't make sense in their world, to their personalities. It wasn't part of their make-up. They were too controlling and manipulative, too analytical and worrisome to have any success at a "que-sera" approach, as much as they pretended otherwise. She needed to think through the various possibilities, predict possible outcomes, feel comfortable in her understanding and approach, and prepare a disaster recovery plan. He needed to get all the symptoms on the whiteboard of his mind so he could predict problems, plan treatments and solve any puzzles before things got to a point of no return.

She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. "What's wrong?"

"This isn't going to work."

"You said that the last time."

"I was right."

Cuddy sighed. There was no argument there. Cuddy laced her fingers through his as they rested on her chest, and leaned her shoulder back into him. "Tell me why."

He stared up at the ceiling, his blue eyes clear, but shadowed beneath the frown creasing his forehead. "You need me to talk, to share my feeling," he said. "That's not me." Cuddy noted he looked disappointed as he said it.

"You seem to be doing fine."

"Am I?" He looked at her then. "I'm not sure creating a sex game every time you need me to share is a good long term plan…Not that I'd object."

She smiled. "You're talking now and we're not having sex."

"But we just had sex – amazing sex - so I haven't completely returned to my regularly scheduled asshood."

Cuddy rolled over to look at him, resting her hand on his chest with her chin propped on it. "I don't expect you to pour out your heart to me every minute, House," she said. "I don't expect this night to have fixed all of our problems. I just think it's a start. We'll learn to adapt to each other and compromise."

House pushed her hair away from her face, gently tucking it behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "I've never been good with compromise."

"Obviously I haven't either."

House was concentrating a little too long on the line of her jaw. She knew he was thinking about something, remembering and contemplating; she could see it in his eyes, in the crinkle of his brow just above the bridge of his nose. Would he share his thoughts? Were the patterns and fears so ingrained that he would immediately retreat into himself? Or would he take a chance while they were still in a comfortable place?

"I don't want you to wake up one day and realize you're tired of being alone," he said finally said. "I don't want being with me to make you feel more alone."

Cuddy breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't like what he was saying, but he wasn't shutting down. "You think that's how I feel?"

"Don't you?" He asked. "Your position prevents you from getting close to anyone at work. Your power and drive make you an outcast with other moms. You're too competitive and goal oriented to let your guard down in your tennis club. And your family is too screwed up to know how to be with you." House moved his hand and he seemed to focus on the line connecting her neck and shoulder. "You are always alone. I think you always have been."

He was right. She couldn't argue any of his points. She never really felt a part of the group. And, although she had a few women she went out with and talked to from time to time, she didn't feel any connection with them. It was never easy to let her guard down, to reveal herself in any significant way that would encourage or promote friendship, except with…

"Not with you," she said. "Not with Wilson."

"Are you sure?" He asked. "You said I was afraid of being there with you, of really sharing your pain. But the truth is you feel alone even when you're with me. I'm always doing my own thing, working my puzzles, playing games, playing music, doing everything I want to do. And most of the time you look past it because you're busy with your life and you accept I'm just a selfish bastard. But when things are tough and you need me there as your partner…" He sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "It doesn't matter what I feel, I'm never really going to be that man you need."

There was so much Cuddy wanted to say, so many defenses and arguments that immediately came to mind. But she couldn't help but feel none would be what he needed right now. She didn't want to make the same mistakes she'd made before, quickly soothing over his fears and insecurities without any real reassurances or facts to back them. He sought truth, no matter how painful, no matter how hard.

House seemed to hold his breath, clearly concerned and perhaps anxious from her silence. Cuddy pulled herself up and over his body to straddle him. Flipping her hair out of the way, she brought her lips to his, lightly grazing his. His hands automatically came to rest on her hips, and his fingers squeezed into her soft flesh as she teased his mouth. Her tongue slid along the line of his lower lip, but when he opened his mouth to give her access, she pulled away slightly.

"I have always been alone," she said. "That's probably not going to change."

His eyes were on her mouth. "It should. When you're in a relationship, you shouldn't feel so alone."

"Who says?"

Pause. Cuddy leaned in to kiss him again, but was cut short by his response. "Stacy."

Her eyes zeroed in on his. "Stacy?"

"She felt the same way," he explained. "It builds up over time. Then when hard times come, all you can think about is how the bastard you share a bed with is not sharing your life. You were right. I'm not good with sharing pain, but I'm not good with sharing life, either. Big surprise."

"I'm not Stacy."

"No. You're ass is much bigger."

Cuddy gave him an exaggerated frown and sat up on her knees, her thighs tightening around him. "House, I pursued a demanding career knowing it would require personal sacrifice. I bought my house knowing it would be just me. I've traveled all over the world – solo. I tried to have a child without a partner and then adopted a child knowing I'd be a single parent. I'm okay with being alone. I expected to be alone." Her eyes captured his as she ran her index finger along his lower lip. "You are a gift."

She held the stare, making certain he had time to see the truth, to know that she wasn't lying or deluding herself. "Maybe that's why I'm fighting. This is so much more than I ever hoped for."

Cuddy leaned in to kiss him again. She wanted to keep the intimacy, hold on to this closeness. They needed to work through their fears and address all of their issues and hurts, but she didn't want to push it. Somehow she needed to find the balance between asserting control and enjoying the moment, between clinging to him and giving them space to grow. He needed honest feedback, not a false sense of hope and reassurance. "Besides," she said. "I think I feel crowded when I'm not alone. That's why I've always been drawn to you and Wilson."

"I thought it was the sexual magnetism."

"Yes, I have always wanted Wilson."

He popped her on the top of her butt, and she laughed.

"House," she said in a more serious tone. "I can be myself with you and Wilson. I don't have to always be "on", to be politically correct, or well behaved. I don't have to pretend or censor myself. And if I try, you don't hesitate to call me on it. You'll mock me and tease me and force me to face the truth. And that makes me feel safe." She slid her hands up the center of his chest and ran her fingers along the small patch of hair. "When I had my cancer scare, you were afraid you'd say the wrong things if you were with me. But I needed you there to say the wrong things. That's when things make sense, when I feel less alone…when you are with me just being you. "

"You're screwed up, Cuddy," he said, but was watching her closely.

"Yes," she agreed with a throaty laugh. "I am. You wouldn't love me if I wasn't."

House caressed her thighs as he considered her, but she couldn't help but notice his expression remained cautious and concerned.

"Wilson and I constantly play our roles to perfection. We do what we're supposed to do, act the way we're supposed to act. We're constantly on…and that is exhausting. That's why we value the moments we can turn it off and just let go. We can do that with you. I can do that with you. I wish I made you feel half as safe." Cuddy caressed his jaw. He was such an enigma, so strong yet so fragile, so hard yet so sensitive. Her feelings for him were equally confusing. She wanted to slap him and comfort him, laugh at him and yell at him. He was incredibly frustrating and exciting, and he was still the most amazing man she'd ever known. But how was she ever going to make him believe that? Would he ever understand the depth of her love? Could he ever feel safe with her? Trust her? If he couldn't get past these fears, they'd never make it. If he went into this second chance believing they'd fail, he'd ensure they would.

"House," she said in a voice demanding his full attention. "I'm sure I want to be with you, but you have to be sure, too. You have to be willing to fight. You have to be willing to fight the past and the fears that haunt you." She tapped her hand on his chest to accentuate her words. "You can't fight for us if you're constantly fighting against us."

Cuddy rolled off him toward the side of the bed. She stood up and turned to face him, bold, scared and determined. "I can't keep reassuring you, House. You either believe in us enough to fight or you don't. If you don't, we're only playing games and hurting each other." Cuddy turned and grabbed her robe from the chair by the dresser.

"Where are you going?" He asked as she.

"To take a shower."

Cuddy left him lying there with a stunned expression on his face. She needed to give him some space to process. She could lecture and explain until she was blue in the face, but unless he sorted it out and determined what he was willing and ready to do it would be for nothing.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror as she waited for the water to get warm in the shower. What was it that made him turn his back on the very idea of happiness? There were very few times she'd ever seen him with his shields down enough to even accept that path may even be available for him. The first time was back in Michigan, when the young, brilliant, arrogant young man believed he was unstoppable. The next was when he'd come back from Mayfield, when every step was tentative and he was literally barely dipping his toes in the water of hope. Then when she came to him after the crane accident.

Cuddy frowned at her reflection. It was strange how she was subtly, yet integrally connected with him at each of those times. She remembered when she and Stacy had talked of her relationship with House. During those months after the infarction, and later when she returned to PPTH with Mark, they'd often talked of House. He had apparently been in one of his brief hopeful phases when he and Stacy had met. That phase passed. After the surgery – a decision in which she was a part even if not responsible - and the pain that followed, it seemed even those fleeting moments were gone forever. Cuddy had seen him become more bitter and angry; she'd seen him withdraw more and more, and his addiction exponentially grow. Then he returned from Mayfield clean and hopeful, ready to try and change. She'd rewarded him with the pain of rejection and betrayal. And finally when they started their relationship…

Closing her eyes and shaking her head at the difficult memories, Cuddy dropped her robe and stepped into the shower. As she stepped under the spray and felt the water wash over her face and down her body, she fought back the tears. There were so few windows of hope in his adult life, and it seemed like she was always there as an image of pain. Even in Michigan! She couldn't be faulted for him being expelled from school, but what was it he'd said? He was going to call, but after he'd gotten expelled it didn't seem to matter. The expulsion wouldn't have been as painful to him as the idea that he wouldn't be good enough for her; he couldn't be the man she would need. Even then his confidence in his ability as a doctor and problem solver were indestructible. When it came to his gift, he was always narcissistic. When it came to his view of himself as a man, he was easily shattered, unable to obtain an unbiased self-perspective. Now here she was again with him during another moment of hope that could last for months or only through the night. She didn't know what to say or do to extend the time needed to allow his faith to grow. She didn't know how to help him believe in their love, in the belief that they could bounce back from anything as long as they fought side-by-side. He'd wanted her to see them as a team, but she wondered if he was capable of existing in a team where he was forced to trust, and hope, and dream.

Cuddy fought back the tears. God, how she wanted this to work! He really was the most amazing man she'd ever known. He was also the most screwed up man she'd ever known. And she loved him. She loved him too much to give up, too much to walk away. She just needed to resolve to be there for him, to chip away at his concerns and prove that she wouldn't leave. She needed to find the strength within her to believe even when he didn't. It would require patience, a quality she was consistently impatient with nurturing. It would mean being open with him about her feelings, being honest no matter how painful so that he would have a chance to work it through in his mind. He needed all the facts on his whiteboard to reach any kind of conclusion. That would require transparency in their relationship. Was she even capable of that? Could she be completely and totally open with anyone?

She hadn't lied when she'd said him and Wilson were the only people she really felt safe with, but even with them she always held back. Didn't everyone? Was it possible for any human being to be totally transparent? She didn't think so. On the other hand, as long as she didn't run and hide, as long as she allowed him fully into her life, he would be able to see into the areas she thought she kept tightly locked away. That was his gift. He could see and understand people in the most fundamental ways. His discernment was astounding. That being the case, wasn't there only one real expectation? Not to leave. The best offense in her fight for their love was a simple move…to stay.

Cuddy sighed as she rinsed the soap from her body. She'd played on his fears by leaving him in the bed. She'd thought she'd give him time to think, but he was probably out there letting all his doubts and fears cement. This was never going to be easy.

Shutting off the water and wrapping herself in a towel, she stepped out of the shower, ready to join him again and wrap him in her love. She needed to remain steady and consistent in her approach with him, never wavering in her belief in their love, but always honest in her concerns, too.

"Watching you shower is better than any porn."

Cuddy jumped at the sound of his voice. He was sitting on the toilet watching her. Dressed only in a pair of jeans with the button undone, he looked amazing.

"How long have you been watching me?" She asked as she used a second towel to dry her hair.

He gestured to his crotch. "How long do you think?"

Cuddy chuckled. "Why didn't you join me?"

He didn't answer immediately, but just watched her intently. She hung the towel on the rack and looked at him, wondering at his silence. He shrugged his shoulders and averted his eyes briefly. She couldn't gauge his mood.

"You okay?"

This was one of those moments she needed to be available, but not push him. So, instead of wrapping him in her arms, she went to the sink and began to run a brush through her hair, working hard at a relaxed look. He watched her go through the steps of her routine, and she tried not to let nerves take over. What was he thinking?

"You came to me when I was most broken," he finally said in a soft voice.

Cuddy breathed an internal sigh of relief. If he was thinking about the night they got together, he was at least thinking and not hiding.

"I didn't think you were broken," she said. "Talking to Hannah so openly was very brave."

"I'm not talking about Hannah."

Cuddy frowned at him, trying to follow his train of thought.

"Stacy left me when I was most bitter and most broken," he explained. "But that's when you came to me."

After the infarction. After he abandoned rehab. After he'd holed himself in his apartment, determined to bury himself in pain and drugs. He was remembering when she'd offered him the opportunity to start a diagnostics department, to build a new life.

"It wasn't guilt that brought you to me," he said.

"No, it wasn't."

His eyes had become glassy, and that slight twitch at this side of his mouth betrayed the depth of his emotions. "You're always fighting for me," he said as he came to stand behind her. He wrapped his arms around her and looked at her in the mirror. "You've never really left me."

"Well, not for long," she teased, understanding his seriousness, but innately knowing he needed a little levity. "We all need a break every now and then to reinforce our armor."

He grinned and pulled the towel from around her. He brought his hands up to cup her breasts. "Leave off the breastplate. I need the access."

Cuddy laughed and leaned back into him. Their eyes met in the mirror as he caressed her breasts, his nimble fingers gently teasing her nipples. Though they were clouded with desire, his eyes also held that familiar vulnerability, the caution tinged with fear. She brought her hands up to his and gave him an encouraging smile. They had so much baggage to work through, so many walls to break through. It was daunting for both of them, she knew. They just approached it from different angles.

"I'm trying," he whispered.

"I know," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."

Cuddy moved her hands with his as he let them drift from her breasts and down her stomach.

"I'll never get tired of seeing you naked," he said. His voice held a sense of awe as one set of hands pressed against her navel, pulling her back into him, while the other scooped lower to cup her sex. Those blue eyes were alight with a passionate flare.

"No one looks at me the way you do."

"Right," he frowned at her. "Just every man who crosses your path."

"No," she answered firmly. "Just you."

She turned to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him into her embrace. "What we have is special, House."

He held her tight, his hands running along her back and through her hair as they lightly swayed back and forth. She knew he was processing, trying to get a picture in his head of how the "fight" might look, what it may require of him. She could almost feel the fear mounting in him.

"Maybe it's not as difficult as we're making it out to be," she finally said. "What if something simple can make all the difference?"

House leaned back to look at her. "What are you thinking?"

"What if we make an agreement to honestly and openly answer two questions every day? Any time throughout the day, just as long as we answer them."

"Like a game? Keep a perpetual pot of questions to pull from?" He frowned as he tried to follow her line of thinking.

"Not a bad idea," she said. "But I think that would become tedious. I was thinking the same questions every day."

She could tell he was curious, but he only responded with a quirk of his brow.

"What is causing you the most concern, worry or fear today? And what do you feel most good about, the most relief or most happy about?" Cuddy tightened her grip on his biceps as she found herself becoming more enthusiastic about the idea.

"You're hoping these questions will help me be the open book you need me to be," he responded in an almost mocking tone.

She ignored his attitude, and explained. "No, that's the beauty of it. We agree not to go into a discussion about it, not to try to fix anything or analyze it to death. We just answer the questions and let it go. No pressure for anything more than that."

He seemed to think on it a moment. "You think once we've got it out in the open, it will remove the block and come up in conversation easier later."

"Maybe," she answered honestly. "But if it doesn't, it's okay. We will still know what's bothering each other and what's making us feel good so we can actually respond appropriately instead of wasting our time guessing and screwing everything up every step of the way just because we don't really understand what's going on. It's offering a glimpse into our minds without the pressure of a conversation."

Cuddy became more animated as she explained her plan. "There doesn't have to be a set time. It can be in the morning, during our day, even while we're in bed. It doesn't matter. Just at some point during the day we agree that we will answer the questions. We agree we won't grill each other, or mock, or analyze the answers in any way. We will just listen and receive the information. The expectation is not that it will create an opening for a deeper conversation, but that we will have a clear understanding of what is the best and what is the worst that we've been dealing with during the day. That's all."

He was thinking about it. She could see he was weighing the pros and cons, working through the pitfalls. But what were the downsides, really? It relieved the pressure he was feeling to talk about his feelings. It allowed her enough information to work through what he was feeling without requiring the conversation. The answers could help them navigate through any emotional mine fields and perhaps even circumvent unnecessary battles. It was a brilliant thought, if she did say so herself.

"We should answer a third question," he finally said.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What question?"

"Maybe it's more a bullet point than a question," he seemed to ponder, and Cuddy couldn't tell if he was teasing her or seriously considering an idea.

"What?"

"We should tell each other something we're doing right, or something that we like about each other, something we appreciated…something specific."

Cuddy felt her mouth drop open. She didn't want to appear so surprised, but couldn't control her reaction. It was a beautiful thought, and so unexpected. He wanted to make certain they recognized the good instead of getting so buried in their pessimism and hopelessness. It seemed so out of character for the master of deflection, who avoided compliments and positive feedback at all cost. It was extremely romantic.

"I love that."

He smiled shyly at her. Then gave her an exaggerated frown. "How are you going to keep yourself from wanting to talk about whatever I tell you?"

"I'm not," she rolled her eyes at him. "I'll want to talk about it. I just won't talk about it…unless you bring it up at a later time."

"This is master manipulation, you do know this?"

"Yes."

"I like it."

She grinned and hugged him again, but House startled her and picked her up to sit her on the vanity. "It bothers me that we're not having sex right now. I think this is the perfect date night. And you are better than any blue pill for a man like me."

Cuddy laughed and wrapped her legs around him, crossing her ankles to lock him between her thighs. "It bothers me that you're overdressed. This is the best date I've ever had. And…" She clicked her tongue against the side of her mouth before going in for the kill. "You make me so wet."

Eyes wide and cock alert, House let out a groan. She'd never talked dirty to him like this before. His response was quite satisfying.

"I'm going to take you right here and now, Dr. Cuddy," he swore as he quickly unzipped his pants.

And he did.


	11. Chapter 11

_For those of you asking, my Mother passed away three weeks ago and that has taken a toll on me emotionally. I appreciate your patience as I get back on schedule with this story. This chapter's a little different, but I do hope you enjoy it. It's dedicated to my friend Aya, who has supported my writing and motivated when I needed it. Thank you! This is also for Mila…who gave a nudge. _

H

She found him in the dining room staring out the window. On the surface he appeared relaxed, leaning against the edge of the wall in only his boxers and a t-shirt, coffee cup in hand, but the frown that creased his brow hinted at the storm brewing beneath the surface. Cuddy fought the sense of defeat that wanted to wash over her. They'd had such an amazing night. Why couldn't it last a little while longer?

With a deep breath, she came to stand beside him.

"Hi," she said, and he turned to look at her. She felt a flutter in her stomach when the worry seemed to almost vanish from his eyes as he looked at her, replaced with a tenderness that never failed to melt her.

"Hi," he answered, and grinned as she took the mug from his hand and sipped from it.

His eyes roamed over her, as if he could see through her robe, and she felt the usual response as tingles spread to her most sensitive areas. There wasn't a spot on her body he had not explored last night, and she was sure his beard had marked her in several places. As he looked at her, she could almost feel his mouth, his tongue…

"If you keep looking at me like that, we may never get out of here today." His voice held a husky note, and she felt a thrill that she could excite him as easily as he did her.

"You started it."

His grin was salacious. "I'm no where near finished."

Cuddy leaned into him, her hand running along his jaw to the back of his neck to pull him down to her. She kissed him lightly before running her lips along his jaw toward his ear.

"I'm not either," she whispered.

House grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into an embrace. There was an intense undercurrent of emotion beneath the surface of his teasing Cuddy didn't understand. Wherever his thoughts had been when she'd entered the room, it was dark and dreary, a place he seemed to want to escape. So, she didn't press him. She simply held him close, enjoying his embrace and his willingness to be with her in the now.

"What time do you need to pick Rachel up?"

Cuddy leaned back to look at him. "Not until tonight. Why?"

"I don't want this to end yet," he admitted. "I want it to be us for a little longer."

He had asked this before, when they'd first started out. He'd asked her to cut her phone off and let it be just the two of them. He had been right. They had needed time, time to revel in their newly revealed love, to build a foundation and work through the possibilities. They had needed time to learn the landscape of their relationship and map out a semblance of direction. Instead, they'd wasted time. He'd been distracted with manipulating things at the hospital to prevent any interruptions, dodging Wilson's intrusions, and awkwardly trying to be the romantic he thought she wanted. She'd been worrying over what he was thinking, if he was ready for this, how she'd handle things at the hospital and generally navigating would-be mine fields. In the end, even though the day had brought them closer, there had been something off, something that didn't settle well. She'd left more worried about their future than she'd been the night before when she'd come to his apartment and found him on the bathroom floor.

They needed time together, just the two of them…the real House and Cuddy. No pretense, no facades. They needed to enjoy each other and have some fun, without so much worry and fear. Perhaps this time they could actually manage it.

"Tell you what," Cuddy said, resting her palm on his chest as her other hand held the coffee mug away from them. "I'll see if I can pick her up later, but only if we do something you enjoy. I don't want you to try and figure out what will make me happy or try to do something I will enjoy. I want to be with you, in your element."

"That could be monster trucks and mud wrestling, Cuddy."

"That's fine," she answered in all seriousness.

House seemed to be searching for the truth in her eyes. That laser blue gaze would never cease to take her breath away.

"You think doing the things that interest me will give you some kind of insight into my psyche," he gently accused.

She laughed. "Hardly."

He grinned and took the mug from her, taking a swallow of coffee as he continued to watch her, still dubious.

"House, I want to be a part of your life," she said. "That means doing what you want to do sometimes. Compromise, remember? We're working on learning that together."

"We are?"

She grinned at him, enjoying the way he was teasing even as they addressed a fairly serious matter. "Not at the moment," she sassed. "Right now I'm going to prepare what I want for breakfast. To hell with you."

House waited until she was at the kitchen door to answer.

"In that case, leave that quiche in the oven alone. It's all mine. I'm not sharing."

Cuddy took a deep breath, only just now catching the aroma wafting from the kitchen.

"You made breakfast," she smiled as she turned back to look at him.

"Hmmm," he nodded. "Roasted tomatoes, onions, goat cheese…" He smacked his lips.

She felt her insides melt and her heart skip a beat as he moved toward her.

"You made breakfast for me?"

He lifted his brow as if to say "duh" and squeezed by her through the doorway. "Too bad you want a selfish moment. You really know how to kill the romance."

H

Cuddy leaned back on the blanket, propping herself on an elbow as she watched House play with his remote control helicopter. He was taking it high up in the air to hover over the ducks, and then quickly dropping it low to scare them, grinning in boyish delight as they scattered in fowl panic.

"You're going to make them molt," she called out to him. He laughed and directed the flyer to chase a bird with a particularly loud objection.

Cuddy shook her head at him, but couldn't help but enjoy his childlike play.

He'd surprised her, yet again. During breakfast, he'd not given any indication to his ideas for how they'd spend the day together. He had made sarcastic remarks about every article in the newspaper, had helped her clear the dishes and then instructed her to dress casually. She'd wanted him to join her in the shower, but he'd said he needed to pick something up and would be back soon. He'd returned a little less than an hour later, freshly showered, and wearing his trademark jeans with t-shirt. He'd quickly guided her out the door and given instructions on how to share the motorcycle seat with a stuffed canvas bag strapped to the back. Within minutes they were at the park in a rather private area near the edge of the lake.

House had pulled a blanket out of his bag and spread it out beneath a shade tree, then pulled out several toys.

"This is a double horse with three speeds and primo control action," he'd explained as he pulled out a remote control helicopter. "And this baby doesn't look like much, but it can out race almost any other car in its class." It was a miniature jeep with oversized wheels.

Cuddy was mesmerized by his enthusiasm.

House had continued to empty his bag, spreading out the contents on the blanket: two bottles of water, bag of grapes, box of crackers and a cheese ball. "I even remembered the spreader." He'd been so proud.

"You came prepared." She'd tried to keep a straight face.

"You have no idea," he'd grinned and opened the bag to show her remaining contents. It looked like an assortment of candy, but she'd barely processed the brands before he'd tossed her a Chunky candy bar and a box of condoms.

"Not a chance," she'd said.

"Is that a dare?"

"No."

"The lady protests too much," he'd said, then kissed her with a potency that left her trembling and needy. When she was starting to reconsider her protestations, he'd pulled away. "Now come on. Let's play."

He'd jumped up like a giddy child and pulled parts and pieces of wood, connections and fabric out of the bag. As he'd installed the masts and sails on two miniature sailboats, he'd spent an exorbitant amount of time describing how he'd modified the original plans. "They are aerodynamically designed for speeds far beyond their class, and the ease of control during turns will blow your mind."

Cuddy had slowly processed what he was planning. They were going to race sailboats. The scenario would have seemed surreal if it had not been for the fact that the little boy in House seemed to be calling forth the little girl inside her. How often had she watched Rachel playing, completely absorbed in her imagination and the fun at hand, unconcerned with the future or the past, but fully embracing with abandon the present experience? It always warmed her heart and filled her with a sense of wonder, of the joy and innocence of a simpler time. Yet she'd watched and enjoyed from a distance, with a protective eye and a nurturing stance. Now, here was this grown man, usually dark, brooding, and cynical, totally immersed in the excitement of toys and she wanted nothing more than to drop all sense of responsibility and all burden of time to play with him. She wanted to feel the carefree wonder and curiosity that had taken him over.

So, they'd raced boats. Laughing when she'd completely lost control and managed to trap her boat into the fountain in the middle of the lake. House had used his helicopter and a vine he'd pulled from a tree to perform a rescue mission. She'd marveled at his creativity, and giggled as he'd boasted about being her hero. Once she'd gotten the hang of how the remote control interacted with the actual wind and sails, she'd become a rather formidable opponent. House had suggested they make wagers on the races, but it quickly became obvious his main goal was to have sex in the park. He hadn't completely reverted back to childhood. A part of the man was alive and well.

All day he'd been such a tease, stealing kisses and copping a feel every chance he'd get. He'd tossed grapes in the air, encouraging her to catch them in her mouth, giving an answering kiss at every success. He'd "accidentally" spilled his water on her chest, leered at her breasts, and then gallantly started to dry her off with the blanket. When he took a little too much time at her nipples, she had to push him away for fear of jumping him. Yet there didn't appear to be a plan, a set of strategic moves to get him to his ultimate goal. He hadn't been House the puppet master. Instead, he'd seemed to just do what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it, with a sense of pure abandon that excluded reaction or consequence. It had brought out the carefree side of her she'd long forgotten. One minute he'd be so suggestive and playful she wanted to rip his clothes off, the next he'd be so competitive and taunting she wanted to rip him to shreds. At the moment, as he directed his helicopter, she just couldn't take her eyes off him. He was relaxed, unburdened, and thrilled by the simple things in life…like terrifying birds.

"Come on, Cuddy!" He called to her. "I'll let you fly her for a while."

"I'll pass. You enjoy yourself."

House had brought the helicopter higher into the air again and was now directing it toward her.

"We're supposed to be bonding," he said.

"Don't get that thing close to me."

"We can't bond if you're not playing with me."

"House," her voice held a warning. "Don't fly that thing any closer to me."

"You're not even trying to have fun anymore!"

"House," she jumped up to get away from the helicopter that was looming dangerously close to her.

He shifted the lever on the remote, and it quickly redirected the helicopter. Cuddy reacted just as quickly. She started running.

House was laughing as the helicopter followed close behind then circled around her.

"House," she screamed and ducked, just in time for it to fly over her head. Before he could shift the remote again, she started running toward him.

He was so focused on the helicopter it took him a few seconds to realize she was coming straight at him.

"Don't do it," he said, eyes wide.

Cuddy kept coming.

"Handicap here!"

She didn't pause.

"Cuddy!"

He was backing up, attempting to keep the helicopter under control and dodge her at the same time.

"House!" She mimicked, just before tackling him.

She was sprawled out on top of him, laughing at his shocked expression. His eyes were on her lips and he seemed to release a shuddering breath. Cuddy felt that familiar insidious vine of desire snake through her, around her nipples and straight to her womb, as his pupils dilated and his lips parted slightly. He was truly extraordinary. There were so many reasons to say he was not the best looking man she'd ever seen, and yet he was the most appealing. He was the only man who could elicit such reactions with just a look. And being with him as he put away all his fears and pain to just play had only increased her susceptibility to him. The sensations were so intense they stopped just short of being painful. Her uncontrollable response never failed to leave her shaken as well as hypersensitive. Smiling down at him, it gave her comfort to know she had the same power over him. Cuddy noticed the pulse in his neck quicken and felt the change in his body as it came in tune with hers. With a deep breath, she gathered her reserves, and took advantage of his weak moment to yank the remote control from his hand.

House was only stunned for a moment. "You made me crash the flyer," he pouted, and brought his hands up to encircle her waist.

"Be glad I didn't do worse."

"Ooh, Cuddy. You're so aggressive!"

Cuddy laughed, and House shifted, rolling over to position her beneath him.

"Now this is bonding." He grinned and captured her mouth, tasting her lips when they parted. His tongue swept inside, tangling with her, and he seemed to grow breathless at the ways she dragged her fingers along his back. It was always like this with them. A simple kiss started a conflagration and they were taken away from the park, away from this world, into a world of their own. House shifted and positioned one of his legs between hers, pressing his groin into her. She welcomed him, groaning at the feel of him nestled against her. When his hands grabbed her ass and squeezed, pulling her up so his hot ridge of arousal was nudging at her point of need, she swallowed a whimper.

Cuddy felt a sense of shock at the knowledge she could be a few inhalations away from a complete loss of control.

Someone whistled in the distance, followed by a catcall, and the sound brought them back to consciousness.

House pulled away and dropped his head to her shoulder as Cuddy dropped her hands to her side.

"Grab the condoms and I'll meet you in the Jiffy John," he said in his most lascivious voice.

She shook her head at him, slightly amused. "I'm not having sex in a port-a-pot."

"Come on," he said. "We've got a whole box of condoms. Extra strong to block all forms of e-coli, flesh eating germs and tape worms."

She pushed him off her and stared at him, appalled. "We'd need body condoms! That's disgusting, House! You can't be serious!"

House started to laugh, really laugh. "You should see the look on your face!"

His laugh was an infectious sound, and so rare. She couldn't help but join.

"We've probably treated people with all kind of viruses and infections from sex in port-a-pots," she finally said. She turned to look at him lying beside her on the grass, still chuckling.

"We've probably treated people who've had sex WITH the port-a pot," he answered as he stood up. He not so subtly adjusted himself before he offered his hand. She laughed again.

House salvaged his helicopter, and returned it to his bag. "Are you going to play, Cuddy or just watch me from the cheap seats?"

"I like watching you," she answered shyly.

He paused and looked at her, obviously surprised. At her openness? Or that she'd even want to watch him?

"You like watching me?" he repeated.

"Yes." She responded honestly, if not shyly.

She was taken with how his eyes searched hers, clearly confused by her confession. Did he really not realize how beautiful he was? How much she delighted in him? A vulnerable look seemed to come over his face, but a spark of hope reached his eyes. It was that spark that left her curious and excited for their future.

"There's a small art and music festival on the other side of the park," he finally said. "Want to check it out."

Cuddy couldn't stop the smile that lit her face. Right now, she thought she'd go anywhere with him.

"Do I get to eat my Chunky bar on the way?"

His lightening fast reflexes grabbed the candy bar from the blanket before she could take the thought any further. "You don't get that Chunky until after we've had sex."

Cuddy laughed again. How often had they laughed together today? It felt as if they were catching up for lost time. "You're bribing me with chocolate."

"I don't need to bribe you, Cuddy," he shook his head at her, then turned to begin packing things back in his bag. "Look at this as a reward."

"House, the greater reward is a chunky of a different kind."

He pulled her up to stand with him. "Oh, Cuddy! The things you say!"

"Not near as much as I'd like to do."

His arms scooped around her and pulled her into him for a quick kiss. "You'll get your chance," he whispered against her lips.

Cuddy took the bag from him as he grabbed his cane then took his free hand as they walked along the path by the lake.

"Maybe they'll have one of those caricature artists," he suddenly said. "We can get one drawn of us together."

She smiled. They were still on a play date, and she was having fun. "That would be nice."

"We'll pose doggie style," he grinned.

"House!"


	12. Chapter 12

_Thank you for reading and commenting. Your interest and dedication to this story inspires me._

H

"You should do it," House said.

Cuddy rolled her eyes at him then turned back to the climbing wall. "Why on earth would I want to?"

"To show up those teenagers." He gestured to the kids who were gathered at the base of the wall bragging about their skills, timing and success. "You should do it to prove your physical prowess."

"I don't need to prove anything," she argued. "And those kids are having fun, not starting a battle of the generations."

"Then you should do it because I can't."

Cuddy jerked her head around to look at him. He had her full attention. She'd never thought of House looking to live vicariously through others. Hell, half the time she didn't even see his handicap. House was House. You saw his limp and knew of his pain, and yet somehow it was all overshadowed by the legend of him, the strength, brilliance and character.

"You want to do the climbing wall?" She asked.

"Hello!" He waved his cane at her. "Some things you just can't do with a useless leg."

Cuddy bit her lip as she looked at him, feeling as if she was catching a glimpse of a part of him he kept hidden. This was just the type of thing he'd miss doing. He had been quite the athlete before the infarction. And for the short time he'd been pain-free after the Ketamine treatments, he'd gravitated to that athleticism. She couldn't even imagine what he felt when he watched people doing the things he was now unable to do. It was always so easy to focus on House the jerk and ignore what was really going on beneath the surface, what that misanthropic façade hid. She'd always thought she was special because she was able to see beyond the mask to the heart of the man. But, Damn! How had she missed this? Was that why he played so many games, egging people on, manipulating them into action? Was he setting up the play for vicarious experience?

House had turned away from her to watch the kids start their climb, unconsciously moving his cane back and forth between his hands. She didn't know how to bring it up, or if she should. They'd been having so much fun, had been relaxed and playful, completely open to each experience and to each other. She didn't want that to end by forcing this conversation. But maybe she could do something else.

"You don't think I can do it," she said, starting their game of dare.

"I'm sure you'd do a great job," he said. "But you are middle aged. These kids have a good reason for bragging on their youth."

"Oh, please!" She handed him the bag and glared at him. "I'm going to do it."

Cuddy removed a tie from her pocked and pulled her hair back in a ponytail.

"You don't need to do this," House said, but she caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth as he fought a grin. "You're right. You don't have anything to prove."

Cuddy glared at him, trying not to over-dramatize her feigned annoyance as she poked him in the chest. "I can do this House, and I can match any of those teenagers!"

As she turned and walked toward the climbing wall, she fought the urge to turn and look at him. She knew he was watching her, pleased with himself for setting the pieces into play to get what he wanted. He was such an ass, but God, she loved him.

Cuddy paid for her climb and worked with the young boy to put on the harness and attach the belay ropes.

"Come on, Cuddy!" She heard House yell. "You've got this."

She smiled, secretly thrilled with House being her cheerleader.

Within a few minutes she had started her climb. She was thankful for her yoga regimen; this climb was really working her core. The wall was a medium challenge grade, so she found herself searching for the right handholds and footholds to propel her as quickly as possible. She wanted to make impressive time. She wanted bragging rights, and she wanted House to be proud. When she found herself at a rather difficult place, she tightened her grip, arching her torso toward the textured surface to promote better balance as she adjusted her route. The last thing she needed was for her rear to be sticking too far out, removing balance and placing the pressure on her hands to hold her in place.

When Cuddy reached the top, she rang the bell and immediately propelled down. The teens were clapping and congratulating her, clearly impressed with her climb. She thanked them for their enthusiasm as she removed the ropes and harness, and looked over at House. He wasn't smiling. In fact, he was standing very still as he watched her, and she felt some concern wash over her. Had something happened? What had she missed while she was climbing that stupid wall?

As she got closer to him, she noticed the flush near his ears, the slight part in his lips. He didn't say anything, but she noticed his breathing had quickened and his eyes were dilated. Cuddy stopped in front of him, both amused and surprised. He was turned on.

"That was amazing." His voice held a very appealing raspy quality, and she couldn't stop herself looking down at his crotch. Impressive.

Her eyes narrowed as the pieces began to fit together in her mind. She glared at him. "You wanted me to climb that wall so you could watch my ass," she accused.

"You have no idea how good that view…"

Cuddy heard the teenagers laughing behind her and knew they were listening to what he was saying.

"House!"

"Seriously, Cuddy. The way you tighten that tush and flex those thigh…"

"Shut up!" He was so exasperating. "You are such a jerk."

"And you are so hot," he leered at her. Cuddy couldn't stop her grin.

"You are so going to get it!"

House laughed, enjoying her threat. "That's my line."

She yanked the bag from his hand. "Watch your back," she warned.

"I can't," he called from behind her as she walked away. "I'm too busy watching yours."

Cuddy laughed and intentionally put a little more sway in her hips.

"It looks like you're going to get sex in the Jiffy John after all," she called over her shoulder. "With your hand!"

She enjoyed his laughter as he caught up to her and took her hand, pulling her toward the game tents. The festival was doubling as a charity event, so there were many activities and rides that were almost carnival in nature. At the moment, House was gravitating to the ring toss. He calculated wind velocity, ring diameter and distance from bottles to create some kind of "winning" formula. Cuddy thought he was kidding until he handed her his win - a huge stuffed frog.

"Don't kiss it," he said. "You already have your prince."

She patted his cheek and gave him a kiss, fully agreeing with his assessment. That is until she beat him at the water gun game. He almost threw a temper tantrum, boldly declaring his gun lacked power and his target wasn't working properly. He only stopped complaining when he came to the "Guess Your Weight" booth. He started calling out weights to contradict the young boy working the scale. House was within two pounds every time, whereas the boy was forced to give away prizes from his failed guesses. As House became more proud and provoking, the kid became more annoyed.

"Come on, Genius!" She said, pulling him away before an argument ensued. "Let's go look at the art."

They'd been browsing through the prints of a local photographer when House suddenly came to alert like a hound catching a scent.

"Do you hear that?" He said.

"What?"

His eyes were wide, as he turned away from her in a trance.

"House?"

When he turned back to her, a grin brightened his face. "Come on," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"Don't you hear it? Willie Dixon. The Little Red Rooster?" He was excited, almost ecstatic.

"You hear roosters?" She was puzzled. Did he have a sudden obsession with birds?

"Cuddy," he groaned. "It's the blues. The Little Red Rooster is considered one of the greatest blues songs of all times."

The music was coming from a small stage nestled in the trees on the edge of the park. As they came closer to the band and she focused on the music, she thought she recognized the tune.

"Didn't the Rolling Stones record this?"

"Yeah, they covered it." He answered automatically, but his eyes didn't waver from the stage. He was hypnotized.

Cuddy couldn't take her eyes of him. He'd been almost insouciant all day. His childlike enthusiasm and singular focus on the fun of the moment would appear out of character to many, but she found this side of him closest to the boy she'd met in college. He'd always been an ass, ready to insult and belittle, always flaunting his intellectual superiority. Yet, he'd loved to play. He was the ultimate prankster, a superior athlete and the party animal of their time. He'd been a legend in so many ways, and she'd crushed on him from the minute he'd read her so clearly in that bookstore. Watching him now, she felt that same flutter in her stomach, that same fascination. Over twenty years later, with histories of pain, bitterness, loneliness and power struggles between them, he could still surprise and mesmerize. Today, she felt like that young girl with a crush on the most complex, dynamic boy she'd ever met.

As the band moved into their next song, House turned to look at her, a grin on his face.

"This is what I'm talkin' about," he said and took her hand to pull her into his arms. It was a more lively number than the blues she was accustomed to hearing, which was admittedly limited. She'd only become acquainted with this genre since they'd been together, but his love of it was almost palpable and his passion drew her like a moth to a flame.

"Good morning little school girl," he started to sing as he swayed with her in an awkward dance. "Can I go home, can I go home with you?"

Cuddy chuckled. This was a timely song in light of the direction of her thoughts. Was he feeling reminiscent, too?

"This song reminds me of a fantasy," he said. She couldn't stop the grin forming on her lips; she was sure it mirrored his suggestive smirk.

"A fantasy?" Cuddy asked, even more interested now. He wasn't one to talk about his fantasies, even though he was always anxious to learn and fulfill hers. She usually had to guess if his references were real desires or just a way to tease her.

"Hmm," he affirmed, looking up into the sky as if the memory were in the clouds. "You were in a schoolgirl uniform, plaid skirt, white stockings, pig tails."

Cuddy fought back the sudden urge to giggle. "Really?" she asked.

"Really," he affirmed. God she loved it when he grinned like this. "Your shirt tied up and showed a little skin, and you were wearing black heels."

"That's a lot of detail," she noted.

"It was very hot."

"Something tells me there's more to this," she teased. "Is this a recurring fantasy?"

"No," he answered, and his jaw lowered as a slight frown formed across his brow.

"What is it?" She asked.

House seemed to be lost in a memory, torn between an enticing fantasy and something dark and painful. She could see the battle in his eyes and it was puzzling.

"It was after the bus crash," he finally said. "I was trying to remember, trying to diagnose the passengers."

Cuddy frowned. "I remember," she said.

He had finally recalled that Amber was the passenger that was dying. It had devastated Wilson, and shaken him to the core. He'd risked his life to remember everything, to try and save her, to save Wilson. In the end, it was too late for Amber and that had broken Wilson. And while the deep brain stimulation had helped them get to the truth, it had been a radical move. She still remembered sitting vigil by his side; terrified they would lose him, too.

The weight of the memory hovered over both of them, dampening the mood. House stared at her, searching her eyes for a lifeline to keep them from sinking into this emotional quagmire.

"So, you want to see me in a schoolgirl uniform?" she asked, hoping to return them to the teasing and away from the weighty memories.

A grin slowly formed on his face. Cuddy almost sighed with relief.

"It wasn't just the uniform," he explained. "It was the pole dance."

Cuddy sputtered out a laugh. "What?"

"You were pole dancing," he said. "And helping me with the differential diagnosis."

Cuddy stopped dancing and stared open mouthed at him.

"You fantasized that I pole danced in a schoolgirl uniform while performing a DDX?" She repeated for her own clarification as much as his.

"What? It's like the perfect fantasy!"

She laughed. It actually was the perfect fantasy for him: a bit of childlike innocence with overt sexuality and intellectual challenge.

Cuddy took his jaw between her hands and pulled him down to her, kissing him full on the lips. "I love you," she said, chuckling at his shy smile. She hugged him to her as they started to sway to the music again.

"So I stripped?" she asked. He laughed.

"Do you fantasize about me a lot, House?" Her tongue ran along the inside of her cheek as she taunted him.

"Only in the shower," he answered. "And in bed." He pretended to think on the matter. "And at the office."

She shook her head, enjoying his teasing.

He smiled and leaned into her, as if to share a secret. "I only fantasize about you when I breathe."

"You're so romantic," she sighed dramatically, and felt herself unwittingly sway toward him. Lightheaded, she grabbed his arms for support.

"Hey," he said. "You okay?"

Cuddy closed her eyes as she felt everything spinning around her. "I'm feeling a little dizzy," she answered and leaned into him as he helped her to a chair.

"I have that affect on women," he teased, but when she looked at him he was intently watching her, concern etched on his face.

"Did you get too hot," he asked.

"You always make me hot."

He didn't respond to her grin, but seemed to be visually examining her. "I may just be a little dehydrated," she said. "Get me some water and I'll be fine."

House didn't appear convinced. "You sure? Any other symptoms."

"No. I just felt a little lightheaded for a minute there. It's already passing." She ran her palms along his jaw. "I'm okay."

He kissed her palm, before taking her hand in his and squeezing it lightly. "Let's get you some water," he said and unzipped his backpack to give her one of the bottles of water.

"Why don't you stay here and I'll go get the bike."

"House," she said. "We don't have to leave. I'll be fine."

"I know," he shrugged. "We need to pick up Rachel soon anyway. It won't hurt to give a little time for you to rest and get juiced up."

Cuddy frowned. She didn't want to leave. She didn't want anything to interrupt this time. Even though they were at a crowded park, surrounded by a flurry of activity, she felt as if they were in a bubble. It was just the two of them. If they left, would they maintain the fun? The intimacy? Would Rachel's presence bring reality crashing back into their lives?

House interrupted her thoughts, kissing her gently. His lips were soft, lightly grazing her mouth and nipping on her bottom lip. "Drink the water," he murmured.

"Okay," she answered. "But we're not leaving until we get that caricature done."

House barked.

H

House was sitting on the sofa reading a medical journal when Cuddy came into the living room. They'd come back to her house to drop off the motorcycle and get a quick bite to eat before going to pick up Rachel. She'd chattered all the way home, telling House of everything she'd been doing for the past few days since he'd last seen her, and begged him to read her a story before she went to bed. Apparently she liked his funny voices. He'd acquiesced. He'd read her the story then left to wait in the living room as she tucked Rachel in for the night.

"Are you ready?" She asked. They had found a man who did caricatures, but Cuddy had not let him see the drawing. She'd conspired with the artist and demanded House sit at a distance and not ruin the surprise. He swore he'd be disappointed if the drawing wasn't showing them in a sex position. Cuddy had laughed more at the shock on the artist face than at his comment. She'd promised she'd give him the drawing when they got home and put Rachel to bed.

House looked up at her and tossed the journal onto the coffee table, anxiously awaiting the reveal.

She came to sit next to him on the sofa and gave him the large envelope.

House pulled out the 11x17 paper and his lips turned up in a smile. The caricature showed her in a schoolgirl uniform, pole dancing as House watched.

"The Jiffy John in the background is a cute touch," he said, and Cuddy giggled. She thought it had been a brilliant suggestion, even though the artist thought she'd lost her mind.

"I like the drool coming out of your mouth," she answered.

"An accurate portrayal."

She laughed and cuddled against his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. House kept staring at the drawing, running his finger along the lines. Cuddy watched his movements, enjoying their closeness, the comfortable silence.

"Why did you stay with me?" He suddenly asked.

Cuddy looked up at him, a question on her brow.

"After the deep brain stimulation," he explained. "After Wilson left."

She took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, hugging him close. "I was afraid," she answered, staring into the distance as she remembered. "You were my friend, and the injury was so bad. I didn't know if you would make it, much less if you'd make it back with your mind in tact. I couldn't imagine losing you. But, I think it was then when I started to accept I may be feeling more than friendship for you."

House put the drawing down on the coffee table and pulled her closer. His lips touched her forehead before he rested his chin against her. She remained quiet and still. She hadn't intended for the drawing to draw him into a dark place, but it seemed his thoughts were migrating in that direction. Cuddy braced herself, preparing to listen and love.

"I didn't want to live," he finally said. " I knew Wilson would hate me. I knew I'd be alone and even more miserable." He took a deep breath and Cuddy felt her head rise with his chest as his lungs expanded. "Having you there meant a lot."

Cuddy closed her eyes at his admission. These were the times that left her breathless. "You didn't leave," he said. "You held my hand, forced me to eat, threatened to strap me to the bed." She smiled at the memory. House was a horrible patient. She'd had to take a firm hand with him. "You knew exactly how to keep me going."

"You just needed time to heal," she said. "So did Wilson."

House didn't respond, and she didn't push him. This was starting to be a pattern. He'd share his innermost thoughts in spurts, and in his own time, while she quietly waited – in forced patience – for him to complete his thoughts.

"I wanted you," he whispered. "Everything was so screwed up. I needed things to get back to normal. And I thought when Wilson came back, I'd have time…"

Cuddy looked up at him, startled. "That's why you were so startled when you found out I was going to adopt."

He nodded, and she felt herself drowning in those blue eyes. There was nothing so powerful as the vulnerability she saw there. "It was bad enough that you were moving on, but you didn't tell me."

It hadn't occurred to her that he would feel betrayed. They'd had such a tumultuous relationship, a constant roller coaster ride. She really hadn't believed he'd felt anything deeper than the friendship and sexual attraction they'd always shared.

"I didn't believe I'd ever find anyone," she admitted. "And I'd given up all hope on you." Cuddy pulled away and sat on the sofa to fully face him. "I was just thinking that I had a limited window of opportunity. I didn't want another dream to pass by. I was already going to be alone, and the IVF had failed. If I waited too long, I wouldn't be able to adopt either. That's all I could think about."

House searched her face before giving a slight nod. She knew he understood. He understood her drive and her need to grab hold of her hopes and dreams at all cost. There were some things they never had to explain to each other.

Cuddy brought her hand up to caress his jaw, enjoying the feel of his scruff against her hand. "Would you have told me how you felt if I'd come to you about the adoption?"

He thought for a second before answering. "I don't know," he frowned and shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts.

House pulled her onto his lap and brought his lips to hers. Good Lord, his mouth! He seemed to feast with the hunger of a man who'd denied himself too long. But it hadn't been long at all. It was just these memories, and the emotions they evoked. It didn't matter, really. She yielded in his arms, returning his kiss with equal fervor. This was a dance they'd perfected over time, through hours of practice and exploration, and yet she was always amazed at the wonder of kissing him, the magic they produced.

"I'm glad you spent the day with me," he said as he moved his lips along her jaw and down her neck. "I'm afraid I'm not going to say the right things." He nipped and licked as he brought his mouth lower to her clavicle. "I loved the way you talked dirty to me last night."

Cuddy released a strangled sigh. He was answering the questions. He was sharing thoughts like a little boy with a first crush while kissing her like a sensual man. He was killing her.

His hands slipped under her shirt and caressed the skin of her back. "Today was surprising," she said, and ran her fingers through his hair. "And childlike." He unsnapped her bra. "And thrilling," she almost groaned when his palms slipped under her bra to cup her breasts. "I loved everything about today."

Cuddy reached down to the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, forcing him to pause in his administrations to raise his arms so she could remove it. She ran her hands down his bare chest as he quickly removed her shirt and bra. "I'm afraid I'll miss something you are trying to tell me and I'll mess this up."

House froze. His eyes came to meet hers as he searched for the meaning behind her words. They weren't supposed to ask questions. They weren't to talk about it, but she could see he was puzzled. It seemed to surprise him that she had the same insecurities about their relationship as him, the same fears.

Cuddy grabbed him by the wrists and brought his hands back up to her breasts. "And I really love the way you touch me...really."

She felt his thumbs brush the tips of her breasts, just before he smiled and said, "There's something I've been wanting to do all day..."


	13. Chapter 13

_Thank you MonFogel, Jessica, Jane Q Doe, dmarchi, LapizSilkwood, Josam, lenasti16, LoveMyHouse, HuddyGirl, Abby, Alex, IheartHouseCuddy, Lou, ParadoxHugh, Leesa, Jules, Yahnis, MelissaQ, CuddyClothes, GrouchySnarky, Cuddylicious, Megabby, FreyaOz and Lisa1214 for the reviews and encouragement, and to DrDiagnostics for the gut check._

_Special thanks to Aya…_

_Disclaimer: Obviously I'm not Shore or one of his disciples. _

H

"This was payback, right?"

Cuddy turned to glare at him as House stormed into her office without knocking.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she answered, stalking behind her desk to sort through the stack of papers.

It was their first day back at work. They'd come in together, pretending to ignore the stares as they passed by the nurse's station. They'd still been on a high from the weekend and didn't care if they started a new thread in the hospital gossip chain.

"Don't try this act with me! We both know you are far from innocent," he said, pointing his cane in her direction as accusation. "You slipped the answer to Chase, Taub AND Wilson so they'd all have the intel. Now I have to pay them all."

Cuddy didn't look up, intentionally keeping her eyes averted and taking a calming breath before answering. "You shouldn't be making bets on the size of patient's breasts. We're here to treat patients, not leverage their sickness to pad your wallet. And you certainly shouldn't be training your team in such reprehensible behavior!"

"Since when do you care?" he angled toward her. "It seems to me you've …"

"Just stop it!" Cuddy slammed a file down on her desk and House froze. "You've got a patient that you should be treating, not acting like some teenager playing peep show into the girls locker room. Now as your boss I'm telling you to get back to work and if I ever hear you pull another prank like this you can expect a formal complaint in your file and suspension without pay at a minimum."

House looked stunned. Apparently he had not picked up on her anger. "Don't you think you're overreacting?" he asked.

"No, I don't," she answered and took at moment to give him a hard stare. "Now get back to work."

"No," he responded. "I want to talk to my girlfriend – not my boss – so she can explain why she's getting so worked up and emotional about a little joke."

"Worked up?" she was furious. "Excuse me!"

Cuddy stormed out from behind her desk to stand in front of him. "A woman is afraid she has cancer. She doesn't know if she's facing chemotherapy, a mastectomy or death. And she's facing it alone! How stupid of me to actually care about her feelings! How stupid of me to think you'd be human enough to see that it's not a joke!"

"Come on, Cuddy. It was just a game. It was nothing!"

"It's the most terrifying thing that woman could ever go through and she's being degraded by the doctors she depending on to save her life! That's nothing, House? Are you really that cruel?"

"Cuddy…"

"Get out, House!" She was almost screaming now. "Do your fucking job without the emotional cruelty!"

Cuddy stormed out of the office and went straight for the stairs. She had a board meeting in less than fifteen minutes and she'd need all that time to pull herself together. She was a wreck. Her response probably did seem out of proportion to the crime; after all how many times had House barged in on exams or consults with patients and acted inappropriate? Hell, he had a tab on his personnel file set aside especially for sexual harassment. She'd always provided the reprimand and moved on, but this time she just couldn't seem to let it go. This time she'd spent the last hour fighting back tears of hurt, betrayal and disillusionment. At this point, she couldn't deny it was more personal than professional, but then allowing him to pull these stunts for so many years was not professional in the first place. This rational was likely just splitting hairs and would not help sooth her nerves. No, this was definitely personally motivated, though she was hiding behind the professional guidelines.

She found herself pacing up and down the stairwell between the second and third floors. Her hands still trembled from the onslaught of emotions. Logically she knew these were throwback emotions from her cancer scare. Yet, how could she ignore the very real and present situation that was currently turning her stomach? House not only had the capacity, but the tendency to be cruel. It was a part of him. It was the part of him she hated, the part of him that frightened her. He had a talent for soliciting severe and permanent emotional damage. Understanding he was equally capable of turning that cruelty inward didn't help. It was just ugly…and she didn't want to face it. She wanted to go back to the weekend, before they'd returned to their roles in the hospital. When the bad habits and traits were buried beneath love and passion and hope. These moments were always too brief.

Glancing at her watch, she almost groaned. She had three minutes. Cuddy shook the tension out of her arms and began to breathe deep, clearing her mind of all thoughts and negative energy. It was times like these her yoga training came in handy. She needed to be calm and focused for the board meeting. Falling apart would need to come later.

H

Cuddy heard the tap on the door and immediately knew it was him.

"You forget your key?" she asked as she opened the door. She barely looked at him.

"I wasn't sure I was welcome."

Cuddy didn't say anything. He had that meek, sad look that said, "I can do better". It was a look she'd come to resent. Pushing the door open, she turned away from him, signaling he could enter. She paused in the living room doorway to check on Rachel, who was coloring in her coloring book as Beauty and The Beast played on the TV, and seeing she was okay, Cuddy returned to the kitchen to finish dinner. House hovered behind her, following her every move like a lost child. He was eerily quiet.

Cuddy retrieved a beer from the refrigerator, opened it and handed it to him before turning back to finish cutting the salad elements. She could feel House's eyes on her as he waited for her to say something. But she didn't know what to say. She was still upset, a bundle of emotions. She was angry with him for playing such games with people's feelings, for creating such a disrespectful environment in her hospital, for reminding her of her powerlessness during her own health scare. She was hurt for the woman, almost feeling the pain and humiliation. She felt sick, and tired, and she wanted to curl up in a ball a cry.

"I'm sorry," he finally said.

She closed her eyes at his words, holding back the cutting pain that sliced through her at his words. "Sorry only matters if you mean it, House."

"I do mean it," he whispered.

"No, House," she said, her voice more resigned than angry. "You're sorry I got upset, afraid you won't get laid tonight. You're not sorry that you played a game at the expense of a frightened woman. You're not sorry that you actually inflicted pain on an already broken patient."

Her eyes bore into his, the storm of emotions uncensored. She didn't want to fight, but she didn't want to just forgive and forget either. He was the love of her life. She'd stopped denying that, stopped running from that reality. This was something they'd have to address, but it was obvious neither one of them knew how.

Cuddy returned her attention to the cutting board, silently telling her tears to hold off. She could put Rachel to bed and then hop in the shower where it would be safe to have this emotional breakdown.

"Is that how you felt?"

Her head jerked up at the hoarseness of his voice, at the raw emotion that permeated the words. She searched his expression. He was cautious, but sincere. He wanted to understand. Because of the puzzle, or was it some dormant humanity that drew him?

"I was terrified," she answered. "It was overwhelming. It took everything I had not to fall apart. I can't even imagine if I'd been put on display as if I was nothing more than a sex object or a cheap whore." She put the knife down and put her weight on her hands as she leaned against the island. "I needed to know I mattered, that someone cared and would fight with me. No one deserves to be the brunt of a sex joke when their facing cancer, House. No one." She stared at him, waiting for him to say something, but he just stood there staring at her with those fathomless blue eyes. "Do you ever feel anything for people who are hurting, House? Are you able to have empathy at all? I use to think so. I thought you fought it, you hid it so people wouldn't get close to you, so people wouldn't see the real you. Now, I don't know. Maybe you really are that unfeeling. Maybe I'm not just dealing with a man who can't be there fore me, but with a man who may actually use my pain for amusement."

He flinched as if she'd slapped him. "Cuddy," he almost choked. "I would never…"

"Why?" She interrupted him. "Because you love me? Because I'm different? How do I know that? And even if I am different, does it matter? Does it make it okay to be so cruel to other people? I don't know how I feel about this side of you, much less how to deal with it."

When she looked at him, she saw his eyes had glassed over and his lip trembled. She watched his Adam's apple shift down as he swallowed hard and she felt a sense of déjà vu. This was the same shattered expression he'd had when he'd realized he'd only hallucinated sex with her, when he realized the Vicodin had taken over his mind.

"I didn't think about it," he said. "I never thought about it."

Cuddy sighed. He was telling the truth. She knew that, but now was not the time to let it drop. This was a battle she had to fight now, but it was a fight that could not be about inflicting pain, but on healing it.

"At least you can be thankful that your doctors did think about it," she said in a resigned voice. "No one paraded doctors and nurses in to check out your package for the benefit of a bet while you were in pain, wondering if you were going to lose your sexual prowess along with your leg." She picked up the knife again and started chopping the carrots as she considered her own words. He still remembered the pain and the fear of that time. It wasn't that long ago she'd heard him recall the events, had watched the emotions flash over his features in hi-definition. Could he find it in himself to connect with his past again and feel? Could he learn to empathize?

"I'm sorry," he said again. She was fighting the emotions, working hard to reinforce the dam and prevent the tears from flowing. This was too much. They should just stop talking about it for the time being until they both could gain perspective.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, but this time there was a break in his voice that drew her attention. Cuddy looked at him and was stunned to see the glossy look of his eyes that could be unshed tears.

"I really didn't think," he said and turned away.

She didn't know whether to leave him alone or follow him. Did he need a minute to pull himself together? Did she? Could they risk further conversation, further emotions without it turning down a path that they'd regret? Or could this be another chance for a breakthrough for them? She was too terrified to hope and too exhausted from the tumult of emotions to think about it. Without further analysis, she followed him. One thing was for certain. She wasn't going to leave him, so whatever happened between them tonight, they'd just have to work through it tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.

Cuddy found him in the bedroom slumped at the side of the bed. She sat beside him, taking his hand in hers and sat as a quiet support.

"It's times like these I realize how screwed up I really am," he whispered, his voice so soft she could hardly understand the words. She felt his thumb run along hers as he squeezed her hand. "I do feel bad," he admitted. "And not just because it's caused a problem with us."

She watched the frown deepen on his forehead and the way his shoulders seemed to deflate. She could almost feel the hopelessness washing over him. "It won't last," she said. The way he closed his eyes confirmed her words. "You feel bad now, but the next time you still won't think or feel before you act."

"I want to," he said." I really want to."

She believed him. He'd said the same thing when she'd broken up with him. He'd wanted to be there for her. She'd told him it wasn't enough. And it wasn't. It wasn't enough just to want to do the right thing. The desire needed legs, it needed action.

"My patient was hiding his identity because he didn't want his father to find him." The sudden change in topic startled Cuddy. She knew he'd gotten a new patient today, a homeless man who'd been injured by a toy rocket. When she'd glanced over the file she'd noticed his unusual symptoms didn't appear to be related to the injury at all. "We found cigarette burns on his chest."

"That's terrible." She didn't understand how this patient related to House and their current conversation, so she waited for him to continue.

"He told me he'll kill his father if he ever sees him again. But Masters has taken him on as her project because he is asking to do penance for his past deeds and aspires to be a doctor…as if that will forgive his sins and make everything better. She thinks because he wants to change, he can change."

_People don't change._ How many times had she heard him say that? They'd been over this, discussed it many times. She'd said she didn't want him to change, but that had been unrealistic. Of course she wanted him to change. Not completely, not fundamentally. She loved him just as he was. But she did want him to grow, to learn. Was that so bad? Wasn't that part of the process, to grow and evolve?

He struggled to feel empathy, or sympathy, or anything that might reflect pain. This struggle had always been reflected in his professional life, but it was now gaining a spotlight in his private life. The invisible fortress he'd built around himself prevented him from fully feeling or sharing pain, but it also prevented him from fully experiencing life and love. He did seem to understand that on some level. She was certain he legitimately wanted to grow in this area. But what if he couldn't? What if he was right and people can't change? What if he was never able to fully experience his feelings enough to empathize and be present in the circumstance? If he couldn't do it with her, how could she expect him to do it with someone with whom he had no connection or relationship? What if wanting to change didn't equal the ability to change?

"This is not something I can let slide, House," she finally said.

"Please don't," he pleaded with her, and she hushed him by turning his face to her. She could see he was remembering that night, remembering how her hand had caressed his jaw before she'd told him she couldn't do it and walked out of his life. She could feel his fear in the tension of his jaw.

"I'm not breaking up with you," she said. "I'm in this all way, but I can't promise I won't react this same way the next time you do something so stupid…anymore than you can promise it won't happen again."

House placed his hand against hers, pressing her palm more firmly against his jaw. He was so clearly relieved Cuddy could almost feel her heart contract in response.

"Is this like the elephant in our relationship?" he asked wryly.

"One of the many, I'm afraid."

Cuddy sighed as his eyes searched hers. He was so vulnerable, and she was so tired. She couldn't pretend. She couldn't be strong right now, not even for him. Maybe it was the roller-coaster ride her emotions had taken today, or the lack of sleep they'd gotten this weekend, or just general stress, but she felt tired deep in her bones. She was sure her own vulnerability and fears were reflected in her gaze.

House pulled her toward him, taking her into his arms so that her head rested high on his chest near his shoulder. She could feel his chin moving slowly against her hair and she willed herself to relax, to let go of the tension that held her body captive.

"I love you," he said.

Cuddy smiled. She'd never grow tired of hearing him say that. It wasn't something he said often, and it wasn't always at the best times, but sometimes it really did make a difference. "I know," she said, and lifted her head to kiss him lightly on the lips.

"So what do we do?" He asked cautiously.

She wished she knew.

"Eat?"

"Fine," he gave a dramatic sigh. "But I'm going to take over the cooking."

"You don't trust me?"

"With that knife?" he asked. "Not tonight…not tonight."

His smile was relieved when he heard her chuckle.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I'm obviously not associated with the show or I wouldn't be following through on hanging plots.

"I can't believe you were treating a serial killer," Cuddy said as she crawled into bed beside House. "And a cannibal! It's so unbelievable." She shook her head, still astonished. She'd felt like she was in a daze since the patient's DNA results had tripped the FBI database and turned the hospital into something akin to an episode of CSI. Between the incessant questioning, fingerprinting and area quarantine, she'd not had any time to really digest the situation, much less discuss the scenario with anyone. In fact, she'd spent most of the day fielding questions from the FBI, local law enforcement and reporters when all she'd really wanted was to talk to House.

"And you solved the case because he was eating vegetables." She couldn't get over the absurdity of it. "It's really amazing…and frightening."

Cuddy snuggled up next to him, guiding his arm around her for a more comfortable position. "This guy could have gone on a killing rampage, or worse. He could have been eating the other patients...and not in a good way," she added, grinning at her joke.

House remained silent. She was giving a double entendre and he wasn't taking the bait?

"Hey," she said, looking up at him. "You okay?"

She felt his hand start to move along her shoulder just before he answered, "Yeah."

She frowned. Something was bothering him. He'd been quiet all night, only talking when she asked direct questions, and then with only a minimum response. That in itself wasn't an issue – he was like that sometimes when he was sorting through dilemmas - but his silence felt more tortured than distracted. She needed to get his attention, draw him out.

"What do you call two cannibals giving each other blow jobs?"

House turned to look at her, clearly curious by the uncharacteristic question and the sudden change in conversation. He quirked a brow at her in question.

"Trust."

He grinned slightly and shook his head, but returned his attention to the ceiling and whatever thoughts were troubling him. She let out a sigh. This would require more aggressive action.

"Okay," she sighed and reached down to cup his crotch. "Speak now or Little Greg will never be the same again."

"Little Greg hasn't been the same since you took up the ride," he said and snuggled in closer to her; she welcomed him into her arms.

To an outsider he would appear relaxed and quiet, but she could see that he was troubled. It seemed the battle was waging inside him, and he was all alone in his fight. She wanted to take up a sword and fight with him, to fight for him. She wanted to be his refuge.

"Talk to me, House. Don't shut me out."

He was quiet for a moment, obviously deciding if this was a discussion he wanted to have.

"I should have known," he finally mumbled.

Cuddy stared at him, stunned. "You think you should have known he was a killer?"

He wouldn't look at her, which was answer enough.

"House," she said in exasperation. "You figured out he was a cannibal based on salad choices and an x ray. And you did it in 4 days! The FBI wants to hire you on as a profiler."

She could tell he was listening, even though he remained stoic and quite closed off.

"No one would have guessed this. You can't actually be berating yourself. It's not as if this is something anyone could predict, or even fathom. Why would it ever cross our minds that such a nutjob was in the hospital?"

"There are nutjobs everywhere," he mumbled. "It shouldn't be that outrageous to you. They are walking the halls every day, working right next to you…and sleeping in your bed."

Her mouth fell open. Surely he wasn't...

"You can't seriously be comparing yourself to a serial killer!"

He sighed and turned slightly away from her.

"This completely proves my point about Masters," he deflected. "She wanted to help him turn over a new leaf, but all the while he was pretending to go green until just the right moment to make her his main course."

Cuddy frowned. "That's disgusting! And this isn't about Masters."

"What's disgusting is that she gets too emotionally involved with the patients. She has no perspective."

"Why in the world would you think you're anything at all like the guy?"

"If she spent as much time on the DDX as she spent holding his hand while he mourned his pathetic existence and noshed on cafeteria salads, he wouldn't…"

"You are nothing like him," Cuddy interrupted. No way was she letting him off the hook. He was not going to deflect this to Masters. "A part of you understood his anger toward his father and his need for absolution, that's all. You cannot compare yourself with him. And what really bothers you about Masters is that you were rooting for him, too."

He didn't respond.

"When you found out about his abuse, you became sympathetic – and don't even try to deny it," she presented the argument before he could dispute her. "This was a patient you understood on some level, which is why you actually went to see him in the first place. When he talked about his anger and his fear of killing his father if he ever saw him again, it resonated with the resentment you feel toward your father. Add that to the fact you are currently trying to change your life and not be so chained to the past, and it's understandable you felt a connection. But connecting with his pain is much different than actually being like him."

"People don't change," he muttered. "And there's a slight hole in your theory, one that further proves why you made the right choice in rejecting a psychology specialty. I don't feel empathy with patients, remember?"

Cuddy stared at him. She didn't know what was more surprising, the fact that he was so disturbed that he'd connected with a serial killer, or that he was still thinking about their argument earlier in the week. Heart-to-hearts with House were never easy. This one was sure to be a challenge to navigate.

"You do feel empathy with patients, just not in the traditional sense," she argued. "And you bury it beneath that biting sarcasm and harsh demeanor of yours."

House rolled his eyes. "You can't have it both ways, Cuddy. Either I'm incapable of empathizing or I just hide it. And I think we both know I'm an evil bastard and not the damaged hero you try to make me out to be so you don't feel so screwed up for choosing me."

She laughed at him, genuinely laughed. "You are an idiot."

House frowned at her.

Cuddy laughed harder and hugged him, pulling her body close into his as she rested her head once again on his chest. "It's not about how I see you. It's about how you see yourself. And as good as you are at reading everyone else around you, when it comes to reading yourself you really suck." She ran her hand down his bicep and past his elbow where she began to trace the veins along his arm. It was a quirky move she'd picked up early in their relationship. She seemed to think more clearly when she was touching him. Wouldn't he just love to tease her about that?

"You only hear your father's voice and whoever else called you failure or worthless or incapable of love. And you only recall the bad things you've done. You place more weight on those things than anything good and worthy in your life. It helps you explain and embrace your misery, and it puts distance between you and the rest of the world." She took his hand and weaved her fingers with his, then lightly kissed his chest when she noted his breath had altered, becoming somewhat shallow as his body tensed at her words. "And for the record...you didn't always have problems connecting with people. That's a fairly new phenomenon"

"What do you mean?" He asked in almost a grumble.

"I've seen you with patients for years, House. You've helped people afraid of losing their gift, hurting themselves from fear of being invisible or less powerful, autistic kids, cancer patients, even a couple who risked crossing the ocean to save their love. Your capacity to empathize and connect has never been found in the predictable, but it's always been there. It's the things that move you that prevent you from being bored, as much as you hate to admit it."

She looked up at him then, seeking out his eyes for a better look into his thoughts, into his heart. "It started changing over the past few years. It's like an emotional erosion. You became harder, more determined not to get close to anyone, not to feel."

Cuddy began to consider that thought. "I think it started after Amber died, or maybe it was when Wilson left. I don't think your dad dying helped it at all..." She tilted her head slightly and let her eyes trace the lines of his cheeks and jaw, down to his lips, as she recalled different memories over the past few years when she'd noted subtle changes in House. "I think I really started understanding that those already impenetrable walls of yours were turning to steal when I started looking into adoption. You were ..."

"Don't," he interrupted her thoughts, and began to pull away from her. She wouldn't let him. "You are narcissistic. You pull it off as guilt, but it's really your fragile ego! Everything is about you. I was an ass long before you came along so you don't get that medal."

Cuddy frowned, even as she felt a small beam of light break through the fog of her thoughts. "You're telling me it's not about me?" His body language presented an opposing argument.

He seemed to weigh his words. "Maybe it's just a build-up of many things. I think that's what Nolan was trying to tell me when I first met with him. It was not just one specific memory, one specific act, but a conglomeration of many that created the damage."

He was fidgeting. She could feel the nervous energy emanating from his body, and though she wanted to ease him, she couldn't let this go. He was entering into a fight or flight mode now, and it would require careful thought and precision to move this conversation forward. "You never talk much about Mayfield."

"You never ask." Snippy and childish. She stayed calm.

"Would you have answered?"

"No." He wasn't going to make this easy.

"Did my wanting to adopt hurt you?"

He didn't respond. He didn't move either. This was something he wanted her to figure out.

"You were afraid there would be no room for you if I had a child? Or afraid I'd want you to play Daddy and you were afraid you'd screw up as bad as your father?"

Still no answer, no movement.

Cuddy tried to move the puzzle pieces around in her head, to fit them together in a way that would give her at least a snapshot of what may be behind his thoughts and feelings. It was like working her was through a mirror maze, pain and heartache with reflections of pain and heartache. She was often lost and overcome by the sensory overload.

"I was never afraid of you House," she said, testing this direction before attempting to fully take this path. "I was afraid of your ability to break my heart."

He still didn't move. It would be so much easier if he'd just talk to her. Why did it have to be so damned hard? She always had to work through his thought process to even begin to get to the clue that may or may not lead to the actual issue. It was exhausting.

House suddenly rolled over onto his side and faced her, pulling the pillow under his head for comfort. He was going to talk. She followed his lead, turning to face him and curling up in a loose fetal position. She had a feeling this was going to be a talk that would require attention and all of her internal reserves.

"There was this kid in Mayfield," he began. "He thought he was a super hero. We called him Freedom Master." She couldn't help but note the fondness that seemed to be hidden in the tone of his voice. "I was still fighting the idea of therapy, and I resented the way they tried to rein him in. I mean, what difference did it make if he was having a little delusionary fun? He wasn't hurting anyone."

House was facing her, but his eyes were focused just over her shoulder, clouded in memories as he almost recited the words. The lack of emotion in his words felt almost intentional. "I thought I'd have a little fun. So I managed to get a car and get us off campus one day. We went to this local amusement park where we could do a skydiving simulation. He felt like he was flying. It was safe and fun. It was pretty impressive to see how such a simple act could make him so happy. At the time, I guess I was a little envious."

"You gave him a moment of happiness," Cuddy whispered, moved by his story. "That was a nice thing to do."

"He ended up jumping off the parking deck trying to fly again."

Cuddy gasped. Where he'd almost been emotionless reciting the story, there was now a great deal of pain emanating from House. He couldn't seem to hide it. Even as his face expression went unchanged, the shift in his eyes, in his body, made his pain palpable.

"He was a delusional kid who only wanted to save people, and I'm a miserable jerk with no real excuse for being this way. I hurt everyone I meet." His eyes finally met hers and she felt the weight in her chest as she held back tears. "He may have lived, but a part of him died that day. I am only different than my patient because it's not a physical death."

Oh, God. This was his connection with the serial killer? This was what was going through his mind? He was thinking of all the people he hurt and it was proving some point he'd been making to himself. It was reinforcing his idea that he was unworthy of love.

How long had he been thinking this way? Was this one of the many scripts that went through his mind to torment him? Was this an echo from his childhood? Was this thought, this paralyzing fear what had slowly begun to harden him? Could it be that Amber's death destroyed that delicate balance that prevented his fall into such a dark abyss? Was that what she'd been witnessing as he'd become harder, and more biting? When he'd been pushing her away even as he almost begged her to come close? He'd not just been afraid of hurting her. That would have been a much too common emotion. No, House had been afraid of destroying her, of killing her in a sense.

"People who get close to you get hurt, that's fact." Cuddy remembered her words just before he went to Mayfield. That must have burned. It must have been echoing his internal voice. And then to find out the drugs he was using to silence that voice was actually making it louder, was actually doing him harm. And then to have some innocuous act with a young kid turn so dangerous…

Cuddy took a deep breath. She wanted to touch him, to hold him, to assure him life wasn't so bad, but that wasn't what he needed. She tried to focus on the details.

"You are afraid you'll kill me? Or Rachel?"

House flinched. "I'd never…"

"No, you wouldn't," she agreed. "But that's what you're afraid of, right? In spite of all evidence to the contrary."

House turned away from her again, flopping onto his back in much the same way as Rachel flounced around when she didn't like the answer she'd received.

"House," she said, but he interrupted her.

"There is no evidence to the contrary, Cuddy."

"That's because you won't see it!"

"I see plenty!"

"You see what supports your warped image of yourself! You don't see the man I love at all!"

"I was pumped to solve the case so easily today," House said in a loud, dispassionate voice. "I am afraid that I'm going to end up destroying everything good and beautiful about you and Rachel even though I'm trying to do the right things, and it never ceases to amaze me that you are here with me…that you want to be with me."

Cuddy stared at him in disbelief. The enormity of what he'd just admitted almost took her breath away, and yet it was just sinking in how he'd revealed it.

Shit! Shit! Shit! He was boldly and openly going to admit his fears like this? By playing the three questions card? They'd agreed to answer the three questions to provide some insight into where they were emotionally each day. And she'd promised they wouldn't talk about the answers or analyze them, but just let them exist as statements. By answering the three questions in this manner, he was revealing more of his fears than he'd ever exposed before while successfully shutting off any further discussion on the matter.

"You're an ass!"

He crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to shake him until he couldn't do anything but talk to her. She wanted to hold him until he felt safe enough to talk to her. She wanted to make love with him until that love washed away all of his fears and pain. No…she just wanted to scream.

Cuddy pulled the pillow over her head and buried her face in it.

"I'm your ass," House muttered.

She tossed the pillow at him, but he shielded himself. "If you were my ass, you'd feel so good about yourself you'd build a shrine for the world to see!"

House grinned. "I'd spend all day looking for reasons to grab myself…wait, I already do that."

Cuddy tried not to laugh.

"I could erect a shrine though," he grinned at her, his expression turning intentionally suggestive. "But I may need a hand."

"You're sick!" But then she did chuckle.

He was staring at her now. Those blue eyes clear and adoring, full of relief that he'd dodged some emotional bullet and more than appreciative that she'd allowed it. He was such a frustrating man. She wanted to push him, to force the conversation and ignore all the "three-question rules," but his vulnerability cried out for a reprieve. And damn, he was sexy when he looked at her like that.

She saw his tongue pushing against the side of his cheek as he fought a grin. He knew he had her.

"This isn't over," she warned as he moved closer to her.

"I know," he said, and began to run his lips along her jaw.

"We're going to talk about this at some point."

"I know." He pushed her back into the mattress and nestled between her legs, nipping and licking his way down her neck and across her collarbone.

"You're not playing fair, House."

"I know." He kissed her stomach just before reaching her belly button and slid his hands down her thigh, bending her legs at the knees to frame him on both sides.

Cuddy held her breath, trying not to release a moan at the feel of his scruff on her body. She'd never become immune to this feeling, she'd never stop wanting him.

House lightly blew along the thin line of hair at the juncture of her thigh and looked up at her. "You know what I want to do, Cuddy?"

"Yes," she sighed as he spread her wide.

"I'm going to make you scream," he said, and grinned up at her.

She felt his tongue on her clit and groaned "Cannibal" before she lost all ability to think at all.


	15. Chapter 15

_A special prompt from Aya provided the idea for this chapter, so thank her if you like it. Blame me if you don't._

_Thanks to all the readers and those who left reviews/sent notes. I do appreciate the input and comments. They are like fuel._

_This is a bit of a breakthrough chapter, even in the midst of the fun. Sorry for the cliffhanger… Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: Of course I am not in any way connected with the show._

H

"You're kidding, right?"

Cuddy turned to find House eyeing the brown and black horse suspiciously.

"Come on, House," she said. "You'll do fine. General is a calm gelding, and the trail around the vineyard is not that challenging."

She almost laughed when he grunted.

"If you wanted a ride, we could have stayed at home," he told her. "You could ride me all you want."

"Maybe I wanted a wild ride," she responded with sarcasm.

He gasped in disbelief. "So you chose a castrated horse? Believe me, Cuddy. Snipped gnads do not a wild ride make!"

"Yours is a gelding, House. Mine is a stallion."

"Very subtle." He was almost grumbling as he walked around the animal, thoroughly looking him over before coming to stand next to her.

Cuddy shook her head at him. "I figured you'd need to take it easy since it's been so long since you rode. General is twenty and has the calmest disposition of any of these rescue horses. He's as close to a pet as you can get."

They were at Baiting Hollow, a vineyard and horse rescue farm about 2 hours from Princeton. They had spent some time touring the winery and tasting the new releases before heading out to the stables. She'd wanted to go riding for quite some time and was thrilled when House had shown an interest in joining her.

"Why don't we go back in the winery and sample some more," he suggested, waggling his eyebrows at her as he snaked an arm around her waist.

She'd caught him watching her intently during the wine tasting. He'd appeared mesmerized by the motion of her hand as it moved the glass in a circular motion to examine the appearance of the wine. His gaze had moved up, lingered on her face, and touched her hair, her eyes, her mouth. For a brief moment it dropped to her cleavage before moving back to her eyes. She'd grinned at him flirtatiously as she lifted the glass to breathe it in.

The fruity, earthy aroma had instantly assaulted her senses and she'd found herself closing her eyes as the final chocolate note was perceived.

"Oh my god, House," she'd sighed. "This is so good."

She'd heard him clear his throat, but was so taken in with the bouquet of the wine she could only savor the secondary and tertiary aromas, oblivious to his response. It hadn't been a game. She had not been intentionally erotic to entice him, although she did enjoy the reaction when she'd discovered it. No, she'd just been immersed in the sensory experience as she'd brought the glass to her lips and sipped. The sensation in her mouth was a religious experience. She'd felt a gentle heat move through her mouth and down her throat like a flush, as the flavors intensified and colors began to burst behind her eyelids. The term "orgasm in the mouth" took on a new meaning as she'd moaned in response.

She'd unconsciously brought her fingers to her neck, externally following the path of the liquid down her throat until her hand came to rest on her chest, just above her breasts. When she'd slowly opened her eyes and looked over at House, the air had escaped her.

His expression had softened and his eyes dilated. When his tongue had run the length of his lower lip, heat sluiced through her and her nipples hardened in response to him. She'd known in that moment he was as turned on as he'd ever been.

"Come on," he'd said, his voice low and husky.

He'd taken her hand and pulled her behind him toward the wine cellar where a tour guide had taken a group. Instead of joining them, he'd pulled her behind a line of barrels, spun her around and pulled him against his chest. "Some things can't wait," he'd whispered just before he'd kissed her. He'd captured her mouth, plundering its depths, sucking on the sweet remains of the wine until her ears began to ring.

Cuddy had felt his groan as she'd slid her hands up his chest and linked them behind his neck. She must have moved against him because he'd become slightly crazed. His hands were all over her, gentle, firm, teasing and anxious. Before she realized it, he'd pulled her shirt up and unfastened her bra.

When it came loose and the fabric teased her breasts, she'd stopped kissing him, shaken by their passion and the desperate desire to take this to the natural fruition. But this was a public winery, and she'd heard voices in the distance. It just wasn't the right time.

"Oh God, House," she'd said, and rested her head on his chest, trying to calm her breathing and the beating of her heart.

"Don't, Cuddy," he'd gasped. "You can't do that with a glass of wine and then leave me with a hard-on."

She'd wanted to laugh at his dramatic expression, but she was frustrated.

"We can't," she'd said, but didn't have to go any further.

The voices were getting louder, and she could tell by the way he raised his head and suddenly tensed that he'd realized the tour was getting closer to them.

"Ugh," he'd groaned and pushed her a little farther back into the darkness, holding her close as he took deep breaths and commanded his body to regain control. "You are killing me," he'd whispered as his hands had pulled on the band of her bra to clasp it again.

"I'm sorry," she'd answered as she ran a hand along his jaw.

His eyes had met hers and she felt that familiar melting sensation throughout her body. "You are so going to pay," he'd warned. She'd laughed because she knew these were the kind of debts you loved to owe, and couldn't wait to pay.

Now they were at the stables, their horses saddled and a bag packed with water and snacks for them along the way, preparing to go for the horseback ride she'd planned for them.

"You can never have enough of that wine," House said as his hand dropped lower on her waist to rest at the curve of her rear.

"You want to get me drunk?" She asked.

"I don't want you drunk, just loose…and moaning like you were earlier."

Cuddy chuckled and pulled away from him. "I'd rather go riding."

She climbed on her horse. It was a strong brown stallion, rescued from a failing farm whose owners were facing foreclosure.

"Cuddy," he whined. "You know we could buy a couple of bottles of that wine, check into a room and…"

"House, I really want to go riding. I told you that this morning. We can finish what we started later on tonight."

"We could…"

"Get on the horse, House."

He grunted and glared at her. "How do you propose I do that?" he snapped. "Cripple here. "

"Oh please!" He was frustrated, she got that, but he didn't need to act like a child. "Use the step, put your left leg in the stirrup and swing your right leg over the horse. It's no different than the way you get on your motorcycle every day."

"My motorcycle doesn't snort and move."

"House!" She said through clenched teeth. "If you don't want to ride, go back to the winery and wait for me. You're the one who said you wanted to be with me today while I did what I want to do. I didn't force you!" She adjusted her stance in the saddle and glared at him. "I want to go riding. I've wanted to go riding for weeks. Now I'm here and I don't need you whining and complaining the whole time and ruining it for me!"

He stared at her, obviously considering her words, before shaking his head and climbing on the horse with much more grace than she would have expected.

"When was the last time you rode?" she asked.

"A horse?"

She frowned at him. He was going to be an ass, as usual.

"I thought you might be referring to the camel," he mocked her. "I was 11, and I had an erection then too. Although those humps could never compare to yours."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and guided the stallion to stand beside House and the gelding.

His eyes were roaming over her body, slowly gliding over the t-shirt and down her thighs that straddled the horse. "Shouldn't you have a riding crop," he suddenly asked.

"I only use that with you, stud," she teased, bringing another grin to his face.

"Nice!"

"How's your saddle?"

"It's leather."

"Does it feel okay?"

"How's it supposed to feel?"

Cuddy sighed. She couldn't tell if he was intentionally making this difficult, or really didn't have enough experience to understand what she was asking.

"Stand up in the stirrups," she instructed. "You should have daylight between the saddle and your rear."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Like this." Cuddy stood in the saddle to show him.

She looked over to find his head tilted to the side as he watched her ass hover over the saddle, muscles flexing as her legs straightened in the stirrups and knees slightly fitted to the horse.

This was one of those times she didn't know how to feel. She loved the way he enjoyed her body, loved the fact he found her such a turn-on, and yet his blatant leering and suggestive behavior was keeping them from the task at hand.

"Are you paying attention at all?" she asked, aggravation evident in her tone.

"Totally." Clearly he wasn't.

She rolled her eyes.

"You neck rein this horse, so that means if you lay the reins on the left side and he'll veer right; reins on right side and he'll veer left."

General stood completely still as House held tightly to the reins, while Cuddy's horse danced around, tossing his mane. House didn't seem to notice. He was fixated on the way her thigh muscles contracted beneath her jeans as she moved in the saddle. Cuddy tried again to redirect his focus.

"You have to nudge him with your heel to get him to go, you know."

"Sure, I know that," he answered, but remained still, his stare in a continuous loop as it continued to roam over her body.

"You ready?" she asked.

"If I were more ready, I'd be competing with this saddle horn."

Cuddy laughed. He almost did sound miserable. She nudged her horse, trotting forward toward the gate. House followed awkwardly behind her.

"Try to find the rhythmic motion of the horse and move with it. Don't fight it so much."

He scowled, looking down at the horse as he moved in the saddle to a more comfortable position. He wasn't whining and complaining, but he was not cooperating. She shouldn't get angry with him though. He probably was quite miserable in his current condition.

"You know, one of the reasons I like riding is for that rhythm," she said, her voice dropping suggestively as she moved her horse closer to his. Maybe she could use his current situation to enhance his enjoyment…or torment. "With just the right pelvic angle and just the right pressure…well, it can be quite erotic."

House turned so quickly to look at her, he inadvertently jerked the reins, startling General into a turn that almost caused House to lose his balance. He quickly took control and redirected the gelding and tightened his grip on the reins.

"That was mean," he growled.

She laughed.

"You seem like you're ready for a trot."

"Sure, I'm ready for a trot." His voice oozed sarcasm.

"You'll like this," she said, smiling at him. "Kick your heels into General's flanks and he'll start to trot for you. Don't try to produce your own bounce as he starts to move. Let the horse guide you."

House followed her instruction, but instead of moving with the horse, he looked like he was being shaken by a jackhammer.

She trotted next to him, encouraging him. "You're fighting it again. Look at me."

House turned to look at her as she demonstrated. "Sit back in the saddle and feel the rhythm of the horse as it moves beneath you. Let the movement of the horse be your guide."

When she looked at him, he was staring at her breast, making no adjustments to his ride at all.

"You're still not paying attention."

"Oh, I'm paying attention," he said.

"You're staring at my breasts."

"Bouncing breasts are on the top of the most erotic visions for men," he answered as if he was explaining the obvious. "And this view would only be topped if you were naked." His eyes widened and a slow grin came across his face.

"Not a chance, House."

"Cuddy, please."

"Come on, Cowboy."

She was already exiting the main gate surrounding the stables when she heard him coming up behind her, urging General forward with a gentle coaxing to enunciate the kick of his heels. He was a sloppy rider, hunched in the saddle, his moves providing an almost dissonant counter rhythm to the horse, and yet he seemed to have gained complete control of the gelding very quickly.

"I thought you said this would be like a date," he said. "The two of us bonding over your interests. "

"That doesn't mean I'm going to be your Lady Godiva," she answered. "And I'm not going to have sex with you here in the vineyard."

He guided his horse alongside hers. "If that's true, why the hell am I putting myself through this torture?"

"Being with me is torture? Sharing something I enjoy is torture?"

"Hello!" House interrupted her. "Blue balls. That's torture. Sexual frustration. That's torture."

"We just had sex this morning, House," she said, disputing his argument. "I hardly think you are that sexually frustrated."

"Watching your sexy buns melting that saddle and telling me the patisserie is closed - that is torture," he explained. "Especially after that stunt in the winery!"

"Something tells me you'll survive," she quipped, and urged the stallion into a canter.

"You're mean, Cuddy!" He followed her lead and kept the pace beside her.

"You're horny."

"That's true," he agreed. "But how can I not want to make love to you when you look so beautiful."

Cuddy turned to look at him. It was a rare moment when he offered a compliment without burying it in sexual innuendo and double entendre.

"I really wish you hadn't said that."

"Why?" He asked, obviously puzzled.

"Because now all I can think about is having sex with you in this vineyard."

"Oh, yeah," he leered. "This cowboy's getting lucky."

"You sure you're not the Indian?" she asked, looking down at his crotch. "You've got a teepee."

"Chief Poke-a-lot at your service."

"You are sick, House," she said, but she was laughing. "Follow me."

Cuddy took off down the trail, passing several sections of vines, before coming to a wooded area at the base of the property. She guided her horse into a small inlet in the trees that most people wouldn't even see, but she'd explored this property all too often throughout the years; she knew the property well. They took this path into the woods.

"I heard your new patient is a hoarder," she offered up a topic of conversation as they rode.

"Yeah," he answered from behind her.

"So the husband has been enabling it? Living in it even though he hates it?"

"So it seems," he said. "He says every now and then he catches a glimpse of the world through her eyes and sees the beauty and the possibility in the mess."

Cuddy thought about that. Hoarding was such an ugly illness, a horrifying way to live, and yet it was such a metaphor of emotional baggage, something that everyone carried. She turned to look at him over her shoulder and smiled.

"You find that romantic?" he asked, almost horrified.

"Not the hoarding," she immediately corrected his train of thought. "I was just thinking that type of hoarding is almost a physical representation of emotional baggage. We carry layer upon layer of pain and disappointment, of hurts and memories, and we justify the emotional walls, the defense mechanisms, and control issues. We give it reason and purpose, and even consider it part of our character, but from the outside it just looks like garbage."

"Except to that one person who catches a glimpse of something deeper," he finished for her.

She pulled on the reins and stopped for a moment to look at him. "Yes," she agreed.

How often had people called House hopeless? A miserable misanthrope? A jerk with no redeeming qualities except his ability to diagnose the impossible cases. Yet she saw something more. She saw the beauty in him. She saw what was hidden beneath the layers of anger and pain, and she loved him.

"Sometimes trash is just trash, Cuddy," he interrupted her thoughts.

Just that quickly the playful, sexually charged atmosphere of just minutes before transformed to something dark and dreary. "You can see the possibility, and you can hope it will be more. You can even try to transform it into something more. But it's just trash. And holding on to trash is just preventing you from living."

He averted his eyes, looking away into the distance along the path, but she'd seen the sadness come over his eyes. She felt her chest tighten as she looked at him. How could he think he was unworthy of love, of happiness? How could he consider himself a liability? She knew the years of hoarding pain, the memories that trapped him and tormented him, had altered his perception. The layers of emotional garbage had literally brainwashed him. Was it possible for him to heal? Would he be able to move beyond the layers of emotional trash and debris to be free to live, to love and be loved?

"We should keep going," he said, already closing her out before she could even begin to navigate the abrupt turn in the conversation.

She shook her head, understanding he was ending the conversation, and nudged the horse forward. Patience, she reminded herself. Patience.

As she took a turn around the bend that led to a small grassy knoll with an adjacent reservoir, she suddenly felt a wave of nausea pass over her. A cold sweat covered her face and washed down her body, and she felt dizzy from the sensation. It was as if darkness was pushing on the edge of her conscious, and she felt faint. It was a struggle to maintain her balance in the saddle, and she tightened her grip even as she felt weakness overtake her.

"Cuddy," she heard House yell, but it seemed to be in the far distance. She felt herself falling and was powerless to stop it.

There was a flash of brown and black beside her before she felt the reins being taken from her. His arms pulled her toward him and straighter in the saddle.

"Lean forward and hold onto the saddle horn," he instructed.

"I'm okay," she said throatily even though she knew she wasn't.

He was guiding them toward a level area near the trees. "You almost fell off the horse. What's the hell happened?"

Cuddy looked down at House who had managed to slide off General and was tying the reins to a limb. Her vision was clearing, but she still felt a bit queasy.

"I think I had too much wine," she said.

"You only had a couple of glasses."

He frowned at her as he helped her from the horse, his hands around her waist to steady her as she balanced in the stirrup and dropped her other leg in descent. His grip was tight and his body prevented her from falling forward as he steadied her.

"Are you dizzy?" he asked.

She nodded. "And a little nauseated."

She rubbed her forehead and tried to take deep breaths. "I should have eaten something while we were going through the tasting."

He felt her forehead and nudged her chin so he could look at her eyes.

"House," she tried to resist. "I'm fine."

"No fever," he said more to himself than her as he looked her over from head to toe.

"I'm not your patient."

"No," he snapped. "You're my girlfriend. The one who just got so dizzy she almost fell off a horse. You could have really been hurt."

She pulled away from him and gestured to the sack on the side of her stallion.

"There's some water, and snacks in the sack. Why don't we break for a few minutes," she spoke as if nothing had really happened. "I just need to re-hydrate and get some food in my stomach."

She had only just unlatched the sack when she felt his hand on her arm, turning her toward him.

"House, seriously, I'll be fine, I just…"

And his mouth was on hers. His lips were firm as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, not soft and tender as when he explored and savored her, not with acute heat as when he passionately devoured her, and not even with the vehemence that possessed as when they'd had angry sex. This was different. There was an intensity to his kiss, to his touch, that demanded assurance. He was afraid. What she felt was his fear, and the desperation in his assault on her was a reflection of his panic.

Her arms slipped around his neck, pulling him closer as she opened her mouth to him. It had been scary for her, that overwhelming wave of darkness and nausea, the sense of falling, but that wasn't the fear that gripped him. He'd seen her falling, seen the horse ready to bolt, and envisioned the worst case scenario. He'd feared for her safety, and for his ability to help. But he had helped. He'd been there.

Cuddy allowed herself to melt into him as her hands caressed his shoulders, back and neck. She loved the way he kissed, loved being held in his arms, loved that he made her the center of his world; he was totally focused on her.

He lifted his lips a fraction and touched his forehead to hers. "I'm okay," she said again. "I didn't fall."

House closed his eyes and seemed to be breathing her in. "This hobby of yours sucks, Cuddy."

She chuckled. "I've never fallen before," she tried to encourage him. "This was a freak occurrence."

"This isn't the first time you've been dizzy," he argued. "What happens…"

"Don't do that," she said, pushing against his chest. "Let's just get our things and move over there under the shade."

She felt him watching her as she moved away from him and began to remove the items from the saddle sack. He didn't say anything as she handed him the blanket and the water, but she knew she'd just become his latest puzzle. Damn. She was just a bit dehydrated. He didn't need to make this into a case.

She stopped beneath the shaded area overlooking the reservoir and turned to take the water from him so he could lay the blanket out on the grass. She watched his movements, saw the tension in his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw, and wanted to ease him. As they both came to sit on the blanket, she wanted to return to their earlier flirtation, the foreplay.

"I think you've got the metaphor backwards," he finally said. She stared at him, confused. "You're romanticizing that I'm the hoarder, and you're the faithful love that sees beauty and light, whose love will save the day. But you're the hoarder, Cuddy. You're the one with the secrets and the false bravado, hiding annulled marriages, childhood pain and all of your insecurities behind the image of the perfect professional mom in her perfect Cape Cod home, acting the martyr with her tortured boyfriend. I may have emotional garbage stinking up my life, but at least it's out there for the world to see with every ass remark I make. You hoard it and hide it behind pretense, and power and control, while all the while it's killing you."

She was stunned. It wasn't as if he was speaking to her in anger, or even disgust. This was the same tone of voice he used when diagnosing a patient, explaining the disease and progression before offering a treatment. Yet there was a chord disappointment, and even hurt that accompanied his words.

"Is that really what you think?" Her voice was almost a whisper.

He was playing with a loose blade of grass, twisting it around his finger and then releasing it. He would not meet her eyes.

"You keep a lot of secrets," he said.

If this wasn't a pot and kettle moment, she didn't know what was. He was the one who hid every time they came even close to a breakthrough conversation! She at least tried to talk.

"You focus on me and how screwed up I am. You keep your secrets and then lie to yourself that it's the noble thing to do. You choose everything you share with me based on how it's going to be received, how it's going to help or hurt me, instead of just letting the truth be the truth." He looked at her then, his blue eyes ripping through her with their laser intensity. "The question is why."

She couldn't look away. Her throat constricted as she struggled to swallow and she felt herself begin to tremble on the inside. Oh, God. He was right. She did strategically pick what she would share. She did keep secrets to protect him…to protect them. All this time she'd been frustrated when he doled out his thoughts and feelings, holding back and blocking her from a deeper view, while she'd been doing the same thing with a different modus operandi.

Truth. The truth was what he sought, what he craved, what he understood. But truth wasn't easy. Truth didn't always have a right answer, or provide a clear direction.

"Maybe I'm afraid," she whispered.

"Afraid of what?"

His eyes pleaded for an answer as if this was a question that had been tormenting him, as if her answer was THE answer.

"Afraid you'll leave."


	16. Chapter 16

_Thank you for reading and for those of you who reviewed and commented on the chapters. It is appreciated. _

_Special thanks to DrDiagnostics and Vicpei1 for being my readers. And to Megabby and a conversation that gave seed to this chapter._

_Disclaimer: You really don't think I'm connected to the show, do you?_

** H**

House looked gobsmacked. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look so shocked, which, quite frankly, surprised her. He'd always been so good at reading people, at seeing the fears and understanding the history that motivated them. And he'd always been a little too good at reading her! It was all part of his gift. Had she really done such a good job of concealing that part of her?

"I'm experiencing deja vu," he finally said. "My patient said the same thing to justify keeping her miscarriages a secret."

Cuddy had already heard a about this from Masters during their weekly one on one. Although she was officially under House's supervision and tutelage, the student had in many ways been her protégé from the beginning. She often came to Cuddy for guidance, to talk about her training, and for advice regarding House. After a while they'd set a recurring meeting rather than continue the many impromptu hallway discussions.

"I find myself asking the same question her husband asked." His head tilted to the side as he stared at her, searching for an answer before he'd even asked the question. "What have I ever done to make you afraid I'd leave?"

She returned his stare, wondering why he seemed so puzzled and trying to consider this from his point of view. In spite of the emotional barriers, the deflection and games, in spite of his incessant self-sabotaging behaviors that drove people away, he was steadfast. He was always there saying the wrong things, making inappropriate gestures, having conversations that the average person would rather avoid. He was generally not the one who walked away. He was the one so often betrayed and left alone.

"You did leave," she explained, and House frowned.

As their eyes locked, she felt the past humiliation wash over her, and was embarrassed that it could still affect her after all these years. It wasn't even so much the situation as everything that surrounded it. Her eyes filled with tears as the memories she'd locked away were slowly released. She'd never talked about it, never spoke of the experience, never shared her pain with anyone. It had remained her secret all these years. Even after she found out Wilson knew of their night together and had inquired about it, she'd only admitted the basic facts. She never spoke about her feelings. Cuddy took a deep breath, knowing it was important to finally get this out in the open, to revisit a past that should have been so insignificant and yet formed so many of her views about life, and herself.

"I was young," she began. "And I was crazy about you."

House sat up straighter as he immediately understood what she was referencing.

"I wanted it not to matter. I pretended it didn't," she tried to explain. "But I thought we'd connected, that we had something special. I thought I was more than just some one night stand."

"You were," he insisted. "I told you I was going to call. I explained…"

"I know," she said. "I know that now. That's why I freaked out and left the dance floor. I'd spent so many years believing it was nothing, and then to hear you say you wanted more, to explain what happened… I was overwhelmed. And I'd already started seeing…"

She dropped her head, rubbing her forehead to structure her thoughts. She didn't need to go there. She didn't need to remind him of that mockery of a relationship any more than she needed to think about all the mistakes she'd made and how many people she'd hurt. She'd beat herself up enough over that. It was time to move on, time to stop feeling guilty, even if it was easier said than done.

"I was trying to move on and your little revelation basically told me everything I thought I knew, everything that I'd come to terms with, was a lie."

She stared off into the distance as she remembered those months after he'd left. "I was overwhelmed that night. I was never one of those girls who believed in fairy tales. I hardly believed in romance. But that night, I believed in it all."

Cuddy looked over at him, feeling the weight of his stare and the pull of his focus. "After you left, I spent hours thinking through every move and every word, trying to logically explain how I was making it out to be more than it was, but in the end, I could only think about how it felt right," she shook her head. "And to think I could experience so much, and it only be a one night stand for you…"

Staring down at her clasped hands, she swallowed hard. "I thought mom was right. Maybe there was something wrong with me. Maybe I'd never have that special something that Julia has; men would always see me as an easy lay."

"You weren't easy," House said. "I worked for it, believe me."

Her look stopped him from taking the joke any further.

"I spent the next few years focused on my studies, on becoming a woman people respected, a woman of power and prestige."

"And on proving your mother wrong. You would prove that there was a lot more to you than just Party Pants," he finished for her.

She felt a little embarrassed by his words. Now he knew. Now he could really see his teasing all these years had hit a little too close to home. He could see beneath her confidence and control to the insecure young girl tormented by her mother's disdain.

"But no matter how hard you work, or how successful you become, you can never block out the voice," he said, but he wasn't really speaking to her. He was staring into the distance again, his blue eyes lost in his own memories. "It stays with you, mocking every mistake, undermining every success, taunting every good thing that might come into your life. It skews everything. No matter how old you get, how hard you fight it, or how much you understand what's behind it, it's there…tearing you down over and over again."

She knew he was talking about his father's voice as much as her mother's and she felt the tears break free from the well in her eyes.

"You never know what will trigger it. But it's a death blow when it hits," his voice had grown raspy under the weight of sadness.

He understood more than anyone could. He knew the pain of a parent breaking you down when they should be encouraging, humiliating when they should be nurturing, withholding the security of love when you're most afraid and alone. He understood on a deeply personal level that feeling of never being enough to deserve even basic human affection from the one you desire it from the most.

Cuddy tentatively reached out and took his hand in hers.

He turned to look at her, squeezing her hand gently when he saw her tears. She felt the warmth of his understanding as overshadowing as the darkness of his pain. In that moment they shared a connection of the soul, a connection only formed in pain and fused by the remaining scars.

"You fought it though. Even when I showed back up in your life, you didn't let her shit stop you," he said, his mind working through years of conversations and clues. "I hurt you, but you still hired me."

She shrugged. "You were a good strategy," she said. "I knew you'd take the diagnostics department and run with it. You'd make the hospital's name known... and mine."

His eyes moved along her face before he responded. "And every day I'd be forced to see you and be tormented by what I'd given up."

She grimaced, and gave a derisive laugh. "Maybe a little," she said, acknowledging the truth in his evaluation of her motive.

"It worked."

They both grinned.

He continued to stare at her, his head tilting to the side as he frowned slightly. "We were friends, Cuddy," he said. "All of these years, you knew I owed you everything. And you knew exactly when I started wanting you on a deeper level. You may not have known if I'd ever make a move, but you knew how I felt about you. I know you did."

She nodded at him, seeing no reason to deny his words.

"Then you must have known I wouldn't be the one to walk away."

Cuddy felt her stomach drop, knowing they were about to cross another threshold, afraid it was too much too soon, but equally afraid to avoid the conversation.

"There are other ways to leave, House," she finally answered. "You've always been so reckless with your life. You've always been so willing to put yourself in danger, to find trouble…to do something stupid like overdose or put a knife in a socket."

She could almost see the muscles in his face as they fell in recognition of what she was saying.

"Or to do something to land me in a mental institution," he added, his voice tinged with shame.

She reached out to him then, placing her hand on his jaw, turning him back to face her. "I have never held that against you. Never."

"But it…" he began, but closed his eyes. It was as if he was drawing strength from some internal reserve. "It was proof that I'd leave," he said. "Proof that your fears were well grounded."

She was silent. How could she deny it? Watching his mental breakdown in her office had devastated her. As the weeks and months had passed and she thought about him at Mayfield, about all that had lead up to it and her part in it, she'd resolved to lock away her feelings for him in the darkest recesses of her heart. He'd never be able to scare her again. And she'd never be the one to break him…never again.

He sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "So you hide the things that may push me over the edge. You keep your secrets and control your moves, you hoard all of your thoughts and dreams and feelings so that you can manage me….

"House," she tried to interrupt this train of thought. She didn't want this to be another platform for his self-hate. She didn't want her voice to become one that tormented him for years to come. They had to sort through these issues without layering them with added meaning and recrimination.

"You use your own feelings and emotions as pawns to guide me along the path of healing. You keep so much of yourself locked away from me, forcing me to sort through clues and crumbs, hoping I'll get to a point of development where you don't have to be afraid anymore."

"That's not true," she immediately defended, but in some ways it was very true. She wasn't intentionally playing a game with him, but it was hard to dispute this interpretation.

He stared at her, his eyes intense and demanding. "Is that why you're not telling me you pregnant?"

"What?" She almost choked.

"Come one, Cuddy. All the symptoms are there," he said. "I'm not an idiot!"

"House," she answered in a strong voice. "I'm not pregnant."

"You don't have to protect me," he said with a tight jaw. "Maybe if we actually dealt with all the crap we are hoarding instead of dancing around it, we wouldn't be so afraid."

"House, I'm not pregnant," she reiterated.

He stared at her. "You're serious?" His voice reflected his surprise.

"If I am pregnant, it will be a miracle. At my age, and on the pill, and using a condom – most of the time - the likelihood is slim to none, especially with my fertility history."

He frowned. "You're not pregnant?"

She shook her head in the negative.

"It would be just like the universe to mock us," he finally said. "But if you're not pregnant, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I told you I drank too much wine on an empty stomach."

"But you've been so tired, and you've had these dizzy spells, you've cut down on your yoga, you nap during lunch hour, and you haven't had much of an appetite except for sweets, which is crazy." It was always so sweet and creepy that he was so attentive to every detail of her life.

"If it makes you feel better, I'll get a pregnancy test on the way home and we'll check. But I don't believe I'm pregnant. It's just stress and hormone changes. I am premenopausal, unfortunately."

"Your mother's wrong you know?" he said. "She's a real bitch, and she's as jealous of your success as she was of your easy relationship with your father. You've got more than Julia ever had."

"You're a bit partial."

"Yeah, that's me. I'm always blinded by emotion and can't speak the truth." She pulled back and gazed at him, mouth agape.

"It doesn't take a brilliant mind to see," he said. "You can't hide your sex appeal, and even though a part of you wants to because your mother has used it to shame you, the bigger part of you enjoys the power you yield over men. But you don't want that to be all; and it's not. You dress for success and for maximum tease; you put on your flirt and scare the shit out of anyone who tries to take you up on it. You are powerful and demanding, smart with your plays, conniving with your approach, sensitive enough to make people trust you and seek you out for guidance, fragile enough to bring out a man's protective streak, but enough of a bitch to prevent any games. You've got it all, Cuddy. The only person affected by your mom's voice is you. Everyone else is too spellbound by you."

Cuddy was speechless. That was his power. Examine the symptoms, diagnose the disease, and lay out the undiluted facts, undeterred by social norms or propriety. When faced with the truth as Greg House saw it, words escaped.

Pulling closer to him, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as they both stared into the distance.

"I wish I didn't hear her," she whispered.

"I know," he whispered, and gently rubbed his jaw along her hair.

"You never had to work so hard to be my savior, or my boss, or even my friend," he said, "Or to get me to see you as a woman. I've always seen you, Cuddy. All those things that make you weak and afraid, those things that make you feel unworthy or not good enough; those things that make you so screwed up are all part of the package that makes you the woman of my dreams."

"Now you're just being cheesy."

"I'm trying for romantic," he lightly argued. "You're a tough sell."

She chuckled, tenderly looking up at him. He gazed back at her, a grin teasing his lips.

"Hold on," he said, pulling back from her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. She watched as he dialed, curious who he was phoning. It only took a moment before she got her answer.

With a curious look, she reached over to grab her phone as it rang from the bag. What was he up to now?

"Hello," she answered, looking over at him.

"I spent all night thinking about you in that hoe-down skirt," she heard him say in the receiver even as she watched him from just a few inches away. As usual, he ignored pleasantries. "And out of it."

Cuddy chuckled. He was calling her; this was his redo. "Is that so?" she smirked.

"Yep," he answered with his trademark cockiness. "In fact, I was wondering if the smell of hay still lingered in your cleavage."

"We didn't have sex on hay," she reminded him.

"No," he agreed. "But we could. I can think of a lot of places we could have sex."

"I bet you could," she laughed.

"What's even better is that you have already thought of a lot of places we could have sex."

"You're arrogance is astounding," she snarked.

"Only surpasses by my desire for you."

"To have sex with me?" she asked.

"To have you," he clarified. "All of you."

Cuddy felt the emotions well up inside her for this man she loved. "Did you want to come over?"

"I'm on my way," he answered, and tossed the phone aside as he crawled toward her.

Cuddy felt an overwhelming tenderness come over her as his body nudged her back, his body covering hers on the blanket. This was what she'd felt so many years ago, this undeniable connection, a spiritual bond that brought the physical to a heightened awareness beyond anything she'd ever known existed.

When his mouth came down on hers, she stopped thinking, stopped remembering. She could only feel, feel the want, the need, the promise. Her body hummed with delights as his hand ran along her collar and down her chest to cup her breast.

"There's no roommate to listen out for," he whispered, his lips running from ear to jaw. "No dorm curfews."

"No," she sighed.

"Nothing to stop us from taking this off," he said as his fingers slid the t-shirt up her torso and over her head. He tossed it aside and looked down at her. "Flesh toned lace."

Cuddy gasped as his index finger slowly circled her aureole. She knew the shadow and outline of her nipple through the lace was one of the reasons he loved that bra.

"Much better than the white one," he said.

"You liked the white," she reminded him, remembering how he couldn't stop staring at her that night.

"I liked what was in the white," he corrected, and unsnapped her bra, moving it aside so he could lift her breast in his hand. "I still do."

His gaze was full of passion and fascination, unwavering as his thumb lazily moved over her nipple. His breathing became labored as he watched it tighten beneath his touch.

"How do you do that?" She asked. "How do you still look at me as if you're just seeing me for the first time?"

"I'm always amazed you're letting me look at you," he answered. "Awed by what I see."

He shifted to bring his lips to her nipple, lightly kissing the tip. "I'll never get enough of looking you." His tongue dipped out and slid over and around the hardened nub. "Never get enough of tasting you." Wrapping his arm around her, he lifted her up off the ground and took her nipple firmly into his mouth.

This was what had ruined her. Even as a young man he had the ability to speak the brutal truth that left you raw and cowering, while bathing you in such tender sensitivity and barely concealed passion that you feared for drowning. Then, when he did release that passion without reservation or self-conscious, it was a free-fall into ecstasy greater than any rush.

Cuddy gripped her legs around him, further confirming the hot ache between her legs as she pressed against his belt buckle. The longer he played with her breasts, the more inflamed she became. The longer she felt his scruff along her skin, followed by the heat and softness of his tongue, the more impatient she became. But this was House, a man who found immense pleasure in bringing her to sexual release over and over and over again, who got so lost in foreplay it became almost torture.

"House…"

"Hmmm?" He paused in the middle of devouring her other breast.

"Maybe we could just get naked."

His low, triumphant chuckle should have irritated her, but she didn't care. Instead, her hands fumbled with his belt even as his began to unzip her jeans. They tore at each other's clothes, determined to get rid of them as quickly as possible.

"Hurry," she said, and then laughed as she remembered saying that to him when they'd fumbled in the dark after the hoe-down.

He must have remembered too because he smiled and pulled her to him, his hand reached down to cup her as his thumb found her clit. "Just don't go ahead without me."

When he echoed those words from so long ago, Cuddy felt her heart swell. He remembered…of course he did. And yet the fact he remembered so many details from that night became a healing balm.

"I've got you." With one hand on the curve of her back holding her in place and the other stroking her most sensitive area with those talented fingers, she came, crying out in relief…and gratitude.

"Look at me, Cuddy." He began an easy rhythm of sliding his fingers back and forth to create an elemental response before she'd even calmed. She opened her eyes and met his, those beautiful blue eyes that left her lost and found in one glance.

"You don't need to manage the information flow," he said, his voice serious even as it held the husky tone of controlled lust. "There's always a chance I'll relapse and fall back into drugs. There's a chance I'll do something stupid and reckless that will mess things up. It's very likely I'll piss someone off again and they'll try to kill me. Your secrets aren't going to prevent or encourage any of that. You've got to start trusting me." He slid a finger inside and her body trembled in response. "You've got to start trusting us."

Cuddy grabbed his wrist, pushing his hand away. House froze, a startled expression on his face as she quickly pushed on his shoulders and rolled him over to straddle him. His words awakened something primitive in her psyche, something so freeing it called out for her surrender.

Taking him in her hand to guide his erection, she lowered herself onto him. House groaned and grabbed onto her hips, squeezing them tightly as he flexed into her. She rode him and his eyes clouded as he watched her breast bounce heavily above him.

"You got your wish, Cowboy," she taunted as the flush ran up his body and the rhythm of his body became more erratic.

His entire body became focused on driving further into her, his hands moving and flexing, caressing and gripping.

"Is it good?" she teased.

"You know it is," he could barely speak.

"I trust you, House," she said tightening her internal muscles as he thrust harder and faster. "I trust us." And with that she leaned back, breasts in the air as she grasped his knees behind her and thrust her hips into him. With that, something shifted between them. The fear and anger, inhibitions and anxieties, dissipated. There was nothing but the sound of their moans as they shared a gloriously freeing orgasm.


	17. Chapter 17

_Special thanks to vicpei1 whose chest-of-drawer talk was an inspiration for smut. _

_And THANKS to all of the faithful readers and those who comment/review. I appreciate it more than you know!_

Cuddy could hear the banging of the dishes as she stood in front of the mirror in the master bathroom. He was not happy. Well too bad. It was his fault everything was such a mess.

After such a wonderful day at the vineyard, he'd started getting surly on the drive home. She should have guessed it would happen. It was their way. Too much vulnerability and openness never seemed to result in a positive step forward for them, at least not at first. He had to go through his pouting phase and she had to get defensive, he had to act-out like a child and she'd respond with control. He'd be intentionally obnoxious and she'd answer with a low blow, and then feel guilty, only for him to taunt her about it. There was no telling how long it would go on until they finally felt comfortable again, safe that the new insights weren't going to be used against them, that it all wasn't going to slip through their grasp because they took another leap of faith with each other.

This time he'd drug Rachel into it. He'd taunted and teased and pushed every one of her little buttons until she'd hurled her mashed potatoes at him. Cuddy had wanted to laugh, but she'd needed to step in and be the mom. That didn't turn out well. As soon as she'd stepped over to correct Rachel, House had tossed a spoonful of corn back in counterattack. She had turned to glare at him, ready to let him have it for not setting the proper example and encouraging such behavior, but then Rachel had copied House and catapulted her spoon of corn at Cuddy. She didn't know how it happened, but she was suddenly the target of an all-out food fight, dodging corn and mashed potatoes on each side.

She'd ducked away from the mayhem and grabbed the closest thing to her – a pitcher of water – and tossed the contents at House, the liquid hitting him square in the face. All food lobbing stopped as two sets of wide eyes stared at her. Rachel was the first to recover from the shock. She'd started laughing uncontrollably. House glaring at her in his drenched state only made her giggling worse until she'd lost her breath and broke into a fit of coughing.

Cuddy had immediately pulled her from her high-chair, raising her arms and soothing her, even as she glared over at House.

"YOU," she'd said through clenched teeth. "Will clean up this mess."

He'd looked as if he was going to argue. "Don't even try it!"

She'd left him to clean Rachel up and get her in bed, but when she'd returned, she found the kitchen and dining room still a mess and him sitting on the sofa watching TV. She'd marched straight to the TV and shut it off, turning to stare angrily at him. She'd wanted to let him have it; she was ready to blow. Instead she'd firmly said, "Go home," and walked away.

"Cuddy," he'd called in a somewhat resigned and apologetic voice that had only made her angrier.

She'd lifted her hand, a gesture he must have fully received as the 'no more' in which it was meant. She could feel his eyes as he was watched her retreating back as she headed toward the bedroom. She'd get cleaned up and the go take care of the mess. Maybe a shower would give her a chance to cool down.

It had, of course. As she dried her hair, and listened to the ongoing clatter from the kitchen, obviously exaggerated so she'd know he'd thrown himself on the sword and was doing her bidding, she smiled at herself in the mirror.

He was a child. Hell, she was equally capable of behaving like a child, especially with him. They were never more capable of being children than after having deeply intimate and mature conversations. In fact, it was as if that vulnerability was the okay for them to escape all reason and digress into childish behaviors and rebellious responses. It was comical really, though frustrating and impossible to withstand for too long. There was only one way to stop the runaway train, one thing that brought them back to intimacy, but on a level plane, absent of fear and doubts.

Grinning, she loosened the sash on the white robe. The dishwasher had just started, so it would only be a minute before he sauntered back to the bedroom, slumped over and sad faced, looking every bit as pathetic as a child who'd dropped his ice cream. She didn't want to deal with that little boy. She wanted to play with the man.

Rushing out of the bathroom, she pulled herself up to sit on the dresser, adjusting the robe for a plunging neckline and more than a glimpse of thigh.

As expected, she only had to wait less than a minute. The door opened slid open and his bowed head and hunched frame cautiously entered.

"Cuddy," he said in a breathy tone, but then froze as he looked up and caught sight of her.

She grinned as his eyes ran over her, lingering on her features in a slow, thorough inspection. His scrutiny was keen and probing, looking below the surface, but far too distracted by that surface he was seeking to look beyond. He was analyzing the situation, weighing his options and seeing one was highly more appealing that the other. He could make another move in this game of jerk-on-deck in an attempt to maintain the crumbling emotional walls they were more comfortable handling, or he could accept this more tempting escape.

Her gaze slipped down…to his lips, which was always a good move. The bottom lip was bigger than the top, alluring and addictive, and thoughts of that mouth on her never ceased to stir her. He had a natural vibrant sensuality beneath that brooding jerky mask that demanded reaction.

"The way I see it," she said in her most sexy and suggestive voice. "We have two options right now. We can fight for the rest of the night and into tomorrow…"

House took another step into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. She tried not to laugh. Did she really have to provide the second option?

"Or?" he prodded, coming to stand in front of her, close. So close all he had to do was lift his arms to touch her.

"Or we can get right to the root of the problem and be done with it."

He leaned into her, his lips hovering so close to hers their breath mingled, and his hand reached for the sash, pulling on one end as he positioned himself between her thighs.

"And what would be the root of that problem?" he asked.

Cuddy began to unbutton his shirt, tilting her head to the side as she appreciated each new glimpse of skin revealed. Her fingernails ran along the inseam, very lightly grazing his skin. She bit at her bottom lip, and she heard the slight intake in his breath. He was so sexy when he tried to pretend he wasn't affected by her.

"Maybe you should kiss me and find out."

With a gentle toss of her hair, she looked up at him and his mouth suddenly closed down on hers. He didn't have to work to prod her into a response. She was already opening for him when his tongue dipped into her mouth, brushing hers. Her lips softened, her body warmed and melted. House had a way of kissing her that brought out her most passionate responses. The kind that screamed _strips me naked and have your way with me now, without delay_. It was the kind of resistance reducing kiss that prevented withrawal, removed any desire to will away such abandon no matter what they were going though, what they were dealing with. She could drown in him and never even desire to seek a form of escape. With that magic tongue of his, he never failed to achieve the one thing he wanted, that he needed…her surrender. And in that surrender, she got what she wanted, what she needed…an uncensored House, without armor and pretense.

Cuddy pushed his open shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, baring his chest for her roaming hands.

He pulled back and looked at her, watching her as she ran her hands over his skin. There were so many joys to this man's body and she loved that she was permitted to luxuriate in all of them. His chest and shoulders were broad, not muscled, but defined. There was such a light dusting of brown hair it was almost non-existent, but that light flush that crept along his skin never ceased to fascinate her. He was truly beautiful, and she felt her core heat and an ache begin to build between her thighs as she touched him.

House pushed her back toward the mirror mounted on the dresser, releasing the sash so the robe parted. He gently grabbed her wrist, stopping her exploration of his body. "Open for me, Cuddy," he instructed, his voice heavy with want. The fact he wasn't really touching her in an intimate way made this order feel erotic.

She caught his gaze as she pulled the robe open and let it drop down her arms to drape around her hips. His eyes dilated as a heated look glazed them.

"Open for me," he instructed again.

Slowly, she did just that. She inched her thighs apart, spreading her legs for him. His eyes seemed to caress and touch every inch of her. She felt as if she were panting in response. Panting! He wasn't even touching her. With just a heated look, he was ripping through the barriers they had been building the past few hours and instead building an erotically charged connection.

"Please," she said, and it sounded as if she was pleading.

"Show me what you want," he answered and instructed.

Vulnerability assailed her. She'd touched herself in front of him before, used it as a way to seduce him, to draw him to her. But she had been in control, she had taken the lead. This felt different. He was asking her not to seduce him, but to give another piece of herself away, to unabashedly reveal her wants and desires in the most personal way.

"Anywhere you touch, I'll touch," he promised, his eyes holding hers. The air was emotionally and sexually charged. This was where they felt most comfortable and yet where so much was held in the balance. This was another demand for trust. He was asking for her to surrender beyond sexual desire and need. He was asking her to trust that he would give her what she wanted, what she needed.

As often as they existed in an adversarial state, as often as they fought like children and teased like pubescent teens, it was in moments like these Cuddy realized she felt safe with House. He was her home, her ground.

She reached up and touched her breasts, filled her hands with them, pinched her nipples and ran her palms along the tips. With every move of her fingers and hands, she watched him watch her. She felt her womb clench at the intense look on his face and the way his tongue snuck out between his lips.

"You're everything to me," he said, his voice barely audible. "You know that, don't you?"

She almost moaned. His words were a caress, and she closed her eyes at the impact.

Leaning her head back, she slid a hand down her stomach toward the apex of her thighs, stopping at the hairline to draw her fingers back up to her breasts. She felt a whisper of a touch along her jaw and forced herself to open her eyes again, to look at this man that held her heart.

His finger ran along her jaw and down the curve of her throat. "I love how you want me," he said, his voice low and husky. His finger circled her nipples before he cupped her breasts, kneading them as his thumbs tormented the puckered pebbles.

"I always want you."

"Show me," he demanded, his voice lowering even more. "Show me where to taste you."

Oh, God! Taste her. His lips. His tongue. He knew what that did to her. She knew what pleasures he could bring, knew what delights could come from such vulnerability. She didn't need further encouragement. Her hands traveled along her abdomen and back down between her thighs, dipping into the moist folds.

House leaned forward and ran his tongue over the tips of her breasts, first one peak, and then the next. One then the other. Back and forth, licking, swirling, sucking and nibbling. Her body arched toward him in response. He moved the scruff of his beard around the tips as he pressed her legs wider. His callused fingers ran up and down her thigh in a slow and seductive pattern. As if she needed seduction. She was already pounding with the waves of an impending orgasm.

His hand covered hers as he helped her touch herself. "Don't stop," he requested when she would pull her hand away. He urged her to keep going, to caress her swollen clit as his long fingers slid inside her. Pleasure sparked through her and she gasped for air.

Cuddy felt his hand leave her and she cried out in frustration. "House!" But then his chin was moving along the line of pubic hair and lower.

His tongue moved along her fingers, licking them as she moved them along her clit, until he finally pushed them away. His mouth replaced her hands, taking over as he moved it along her clit, firing every nerve ending at the tips and surrounding the inner folds. When she felt as if she couldn't take anymore, her orgasm just at the brink and yet eluding her, he sucked at her. He sucked hard, then licked and lapped and sucked again, the unrelenting movement and rhythm driving her wild.

Cuddy grabbed her breasts and bucked against him when his tongue entered her, mimicking sex. She pumped against him once, twice, before desperately grabbing his hair to hold him steady as she released into his mouth. He didn't stop devouring her, tasting of her eruption, drawing her from one burst to the next until she was about to collapse.

He caught her in his arms, holding her close to him even as she felt him moving between her legs, heard the clatter of his belt and release of the zipper.

"I want to be inside you," he rasped, and dropped his pants and boxers.

"What's stopping you?" she asked, her hands grabbing his ass to pull him closer. She could barely process how hard he was, how close his erection was to the center of her need. She wanted to touch him, to taste him, to bring him the same pleasure he brought her, but more than anything she needed to feel him inside her.

A moment later, he was buried deep insider her core, joined with her in a connection that she felt to her soul. Her body clenched at his cock, desperately seeking to take him deeper, to fully merge with him. He flexed and pounded, and when she thought she'd scream from the onslaught of sensations, he grabbed her thighs and tilted her…and the sound of their moans mingled as the entered their own Utopia. This was where nothing in their past, no voices or fears or anxieties could reach them. This was where everything made sense.

"There is no problem here," he finally said, his breath heating her ear.

She smiled. "None at all."

**H**

Cuddy was curled up against House, her head resting on his shoulder. They'd barely made it to the bed, so strung out their release. They'd been quietly reveling in the peaceful bliss of the moment, their hands unconsciously caressing each other.

"What's this?" House suddenly asked. He was moving his fingers along her side, close to her back.

"Just some dry skin," she answered in a yawn. She'd noticed the slight rash earlier in the shower when she'd reached back to scratch the area where it was itching. "I put some lotion on it earlier, but I'll put some more on later."

"That's not dry skin," he said.

Cuddy frowned. "What do you mean?"

He rolled her over and moved down on the bed to get a better look.

"What is it?" she asked when he didn't immediately respond.

House reached over to the bedside table and removed a box from a drawer. "Here," he said. "You need to take the test."

Cuddy stared at him and then down at the box. He couldn't be serious.

"A dry patch of skin does not mean I'm pregnant," she argued, but took the box from him. "And when did you get a pregnancy test."

"When we stopped for gas on the way back from the vineyard," he answered, and continued to stare at her.

"I told you I wasn't pregnant," she said.

"You said you'd take the test anyway," he reminded her.

She stared back at him, searching his expression for a clue to what he was feeling, what he was thinking. He crossed his arms and collapsed back against his pillow, staring at the ceiling with a hint of a pout on his lips. How could she feel totally connected to him one minute and totally confused the next?

"There was a time you would have been rushing to take that test," he quipped.

Cuddy sighed and got up from the bed, rolling her eyes at him. "When this turns out to be negative, I want a massage," she said and closed the bathroom door behind her with a little more force than necessary.


	18. Chapter 18

_Thank you so much for all of the wonderful comments and the notes you have sent these past few days. What encouragement! Especially to those who find the character of Cuddy as interesting and lovable as I do._

_Special thanks to Vicpei1 for the gut check today._

_Disclaimer: I'm not connected with anything affiliated with David Shore._

**[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]**

Cuddy ambled into the bedroom, pee stick in hand and came to stand beside the bed.

"Get up," she commanded, as she looked down at him.

He dropped the medical journal onto his chest and peered at her over his reading glasses.

"I was right," he said, looking down at her bare stomach as she stood naked before him.

Cuddy pulled the journal from his grasp and tossed it onto the bedside table.

"Come on," she said. "Get up."

He frowned at her, clearly puzzled, as he pushed the covers aside and stood up.

She handed him the test stick as if she were giving a parent a report card and waited for him to look down at it.

"You owe me a massage," she said in a sing song voice and jumped onto the bed, bouncing up and down as she repeated the mantra.

House was staring down at the stick, a frown across his brow. "This can't be right," he muttered.

"Face it," she said. "I'm right; you're wrong. Get the oil."

He glared at her, but it wasn't anger or frustration. It was something else.

"There was a time you would have been relieved by a negative result," she taunted, reminding him of his earlier quip.

He continued to frown, watching her through hooded eyes.

"Full body," she said, smiling flirtatiously as she took the stick from him and tossed it on the table near the medical journal. "No less than a half hour."

He didn't move; his expression didn't alter.

Cuddy chuckled, taking his hands in hers and spreading his arms open. "Come on, House," she said, and his eyes shifted from her face to her bare breasts. "This can't be that traumatic."

"These symptoms are real, Cuddy," he said. She heard the puzzlement and concern that echoed in his tone.

"And they can be attributed to stress, exhaustion, dehydration, or any number of things," she responded. "You do realize it's actually a win for you to be wrong this time, right?" Swiveling her body in front of him and bouncing up a few more times, she mercilessly teased him.

He was fighting a grin as he watched her.

"You're the one getting a massage," he argued.

"As if having free reign to fondle every inch of my body is a hardship!"

His eyes ran slowly up and down her and she felt that familiar jolt of electricity shoot through her. As long as they'd known each other, as often as they'd had sex, she still felt an instant visceral response when he looked at her with those heated, devouring stares. Every. Single. Time.

Pulling him toward her, Cuddy kissed him lightly on the lips before slapping his behind. "Let's go, Big Guy." And she lay face down on the bed, ignoring the way he shook his head and pretended to be tolerating her. She knew better. He didn't object to the idea of massaging her any more than he really objected to being wrong about the pregnancy. On the other hand, the ting of disappointed that she'd detected had been a bit of surprise.

She heard him rustling in the bathroom cabinets before coming back to stand by the bed.

"Here," he said, and handed her a tie for her hair. He poured some oil in his hand as she tied her hair back and adjusted herself crossway on the bed creating a right angle with him, head at his thighs. His eyes remained on her. "How many times have I fantasized about this?" he teased.

She smiled into the sheets as his hands began to gently run across her shoulders and down the center of her spine.

"Yes," she said.

"What?" His arms stretch across her length as his hands ran down the curve of her rear to her thighs and back up again.

"I was answering that unasked question."

His hands stopped their lights caress, and she tipped her head back awkwardly to look up at him as he towered above her. "I have a massage fantasy about you, too."

And there was that grin that melted bone. She knew he loved it when she shared her fantasies - and he never failed to fulfill them – but this fantasy involved fulfilling him.

His hands began to move again, spreading the oil evenly over the contours of her back. "You going to share this fantasy?"

"Nope," she answered, and laughed when he lightly popped her on the ass. "I'm leaning more toward a show and tell."

His fingers, slick and warm with oil, sank into the tight muscles at her neck and shoulders. He started with a gentle kneading, very slowly increasing pressure while maintaining a slow and steady rhythm. It was almost hypnotic.

"And when does the show and tell start," he asked.

"It already has," she sighed, and felt herself sinking into a moment of borderline unconsciousness. She was aware of nothing but the stroke of his hands easing the muscles along her spine, lower back, her butt and thighs. Yet an image of House lingered in her mind: the expression of disappointment that had registered when she'd handed him the pee stick.

At first she'd thought it was a reflexive reaction at the misdiagnosis, an obvious conclusion since he hated to be wrong. But now, in this almost meditative state, she began to consider the deeper look of hurt detected in his eyes. She'd teased him, playfully drawing his attention away from the results, but in those few seconds she'd definitely seen a glimpse of disappointment. But why? House didn't want children. In all the years she'd known him, he'd mocked and resisted the notion that people would want children at all except for the innate desire to procreate and prevent extinction of a sub-par species.

Perhaps it was more fear than disappointment. It would be just like him to embrace his deepest pessimism, determining it's an illness since it wasn't pregnancy. It hadn't been long since they'd faced the cancer scare, and even though they'd come so far since that horrible time, the emotional impact lingered.

Cuddy found a much-needed distraction when House paused to pour more oil. He warmed his palms before stretching across her again to pull his hands along her thighs in slow, even strokes. His more aggressive touch was affecting her in a much different way than his gentle. Instead of stirring a need to submit to his thorough exploration, to give herself freely to him, she felt a more feral desire rising up inside her.

It wasn't shocking. The adversarial streak that ran between them was strong and constant. It reared its head at any given time, responding almost randomly to the alpha male in him. She shouldn't be surprised it was coming to life when she was falling into a half-sleep state. That's when fantasies could become most vivid, most alive.

But what he was doing with her feet almost sent her into tiger mode. She couldn't remember a time he'd paid such careful attention to that part of her body when he massaged her. Not that she'd ever complain! Not when the length of his body was draped along the length of her. Not when he was rolling her feet in slow circles, massaging her instep, working each toe so long that it sent a current up every nerve ending in her body.

House returned his attention to her legs, kneading the calf muscles again before easing his way up her thighs. His touch had long since reawakened her desires, which should have been depleted after the day they'd had. But now, as he leaned over her, his naked chest lightly sliding along her back as his fingers slid high up on her thighs, she was aroused again. Then his fingers took a more intimate route, discovering moisture with a better glide than the oil he was using.

"God, Cuddy," he moaned. She shared his sentiment, and rolled over.

She looked up at him, stretching her arms up over her head to circle his thighs. He looked larger than life from this perspective; with her head at his knees and him a naked god peering down at her. "You're half-way there."

He seemed to exist in a trance as he poured more oil in his hands. His erection was at more than half-mast as it bobbed above her head in time with the movement of his hands. Even at this angle, he was beautiful.

His hands began their journey along the front of her body, making a straight line down her center to just below her belly button and then back up along her sides. His thumbs skimmed the sides of her breasts and then cupped under her arms, squeezing as they followed the shaped of her biceps.

Cuddy fought the need to writhe beneath his would-be innocent, yet oh-so-erotic caress. When his fingers began to knead and circle the skin at her clavicle and along her chest, she squeezed his thighs, pulling him closer to her. When his hands dipped lower to cup her breasts and massage them with a firm caress, she arched her back and licked the underside of his cock.

"I thought you wanted a massage," he rasped.

"I thought you wanted show and tell," she teased, and stroked him again with her tongue. "Keep going," she instructed.

House looked down at her, his eyes clouded with passion as he watched her mouth on him. She couldn't help but notice his hands moved along her body in a more random and broken pattern. She felt empowered by his response. He stretched to move his hands down her hips and thighs, and Cuddy took his sac into her mouth, sucking lightly. He jumped, squeezing her thighs and almost gasping for air.

She caught his stare as she moved her mouth up his shaft, giving little nibbles with her lips as she inched her way toward the tip. His hand cupped her mound and she took him into her mouth, and House let out a groan. She slid up and down, curving and straightening her back to take him deep in her mouth and push him out again. His hands began to move again, squeezing and pulling him in closer to her.

Her tongue ran along the ridge at the hood of his cock, flicking at the skin, and then followed the engorged vein toward his balls and back again. Cuddy slid one of her hands around to cup him, stretching her middle finger to graze the edge of his asshole. She felt him jerk, and felt his body tense as his senses became painstakingly alert.

"If you want me to fulfill a massage fantasy, you'd better speak up now," he demanded his voice unstable.

She looked at him, her gaze steady and hungry. "This is my fantasy," she said, and took him in her mouth again.

House closed his eyes, gasping for breath, and she began to suck him: up and down, in and out of her mouth, flicking her tongue in rhythm with the move of her lips. He slid his hands up her body as he stood up straight. Cuddy watched him. He watched her.

A flush had crept over his body and she traced it with her eyes as her mouth moved. House cupped her breasts and his body began to spasm. She hummed against his skin and the vibration sent a jolt through him, drawing his orgasm out from the abyss to a seismic eruption.

**[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]**

"You were disappointed the test was negative," Cuddy whispered, needing to address the topic. It usually worked well to have the difficult conversations when he was satiated and blissful.

"I was surprised," he corrected, his fingers slid up and down her arms and shoulder as she curled up against him. "The symptoms are real."

"It was more than that," she lightly argued. She noted his eyes moved to the side and his fingers paused, confirming her suspicions. She wanted to talk about it, but needed to keep it light. This could be a mine field. "You're actually enjoying the domestic life after all."

"I'm a regular Ward Cleaver." His hands ran down her back to cup her ass.

"More like Ron Jeremy in a remake of Make Room for Daddy."

"Is that like domesticated porn?" he asked. "That makes me a mainstream porn king."

Cuddy shifted, curling her leg up and around him as she propped her head on her hand. "I'm so glad Wilson gave you tips."

House growled and buried his head in the curve of her neck. "Be not afraid," he said in a guttural voice.

Cuddy laughed and cupped his jaw, angling his fact to look at her. "Are you disappointed?" she asked.

"After the best blow job ever?" He answered with a wide-eyed, enthusiastic expression. "I would say no."

She sighed. "You were disappointed the test was negative. I saw it. We should talk about it."

"Or not."

Cuddy stared at him for a moment, frustrated. This was going nowhere.

"Yes, that's always worked well with us," she responded and turned over in bed, her back to him.

He sighed and she could feel him considering his options behind her.

"I've never wanted to be a father, never even thought about it…until you wanted to have a baby," he finally said.

Cuddy was quiet and still, waiting for him to continue. She sensed something more beneath the surface, hovering between them. "Did you even think about asking me to be a donor?"

She turned to look at him, not hiding her shock at such a question. "You know I did. You knew it the whole time you were giving me the injections…and when I came to thank you."

"Then why didn't you ask?"

"When I came to your office that day, I suddenly felt like I was making a choice much greater than even deciding to have a baby. I looked at you and knew you wouldn't want to be a father, wouldn't be a part of the child's life. You would give me your sperm and shut me out." Her fingers began to idly trace the very small patch of hair on his chest. "I wanted you in my life. I thought you'd make it a point to enforce donor rules and keep your distance, and that thought made me sick. I guess when faced with a choice of having at least the hope of a chance with you or having your baby, I chose you."

House stared at her, searching her face for truth, or perhaps for answers to questions he'd still not asked. He finally shrugged and said "Not sure the world could handle a spawn with both our genes."

Cuddy smiled at him, endearingly.

"It would have been amazing." She curled back into his side, considering the thought. She remembered fantasizing about what a baby of theirs would look like, a baby with his eyes, his…

"Do you want another baby, Cuddy?"

Cuddy felt a surge of emotions that almost brought bile to her throat. "I don't know if I can go through that again," she answered, honestly. "It was so hard. The hormones, the emotions, the constant roller coaster. One minute I was so hopeful and ecstatic, so certain I was pregnant, the next minute crushed and broken, realizing I'd failed again." Even now, several years later, her eyes welled with tears at the memory of that time, of the weight of it all. "Every month it was the same thing over and over again. I never had time to deal with the failure before it was time to take more shots and start all over again. And after the miscarriage…" She shook her head. She didn't want to relive that pain. "It would be even harder now," she said. "I know a lot of women are having babies at my age, but you know as well as I do that it's not as easy as the media makes it seem. Infertility and failure is far more prevalent."

"You didn't 'fail', Cuddy,' he corrected and turned to face her, snuggling close to her. "And that doesn't answer my question. Do you want another baby?"

She stared at him, carefully considering her words, and finally decided undiluted truth was the best course. "I want your baby," she said. "I don't want to do IVF, hormone shots, or basal body temperature mapping ever again. I don't want to go through all of that like I'm some kind of freak of nature for medicine and technology to explore." She paused to make certain he was hearing her, understanding what she said. "If by some miracle I was to get pregnant…yes, I'd want it," she further explained and watched his expression closely. "Would you want it?"

He was quiet a long time. She thought he'd deflect, or find a way to dodge the question, pretend to fall asleep in a sudden bout of narcolepsy. Instead, his clear eyes looked deep into hers and he answered in the softest of voices. "Yes. I think I would."

Cuddy swallowed hard and a tear drifted down her face.

"I wouldn't plan a baby, Cuddy," he spoke softly, his eyes roaming tenderly over her face. "We both know I'm not daddy material…and I certainly have never had a decent role model."

"You underestimate yourself," she argued.

"And you overestimate me," he said with a note of sadness. "If the test had been positive, I wouldn't have wanted you to terminate, or to lose it." He almost gulped when he added, "But a baby is not on my wish list."

He was afraid. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his arms held her firm yet loose.

Cuddy nodded her understanding, leaning forward to kiss him.

"I love every crazy, playful, erotic thing about this day with you," she said, her lips a breath away. "It bothers me that you still feel afraid with me." She hugged him tight as she answered the three daily questions that had become a part of their daily ritual. "I love that you love me beyond that fear."

His eyelashes seemed to flutter as he blinked, the clouds drifting from the blue depths of his gaze, and she felt him relax into her. She closed her eyes, relishing the peace that encompassed them, and drifted off to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

_Thank you for all of the comments and reviews. Especially to the guests who I have been unable to respond to personally._

_Special thanks to Megabby and Maxthegirl. You know why._

_Disclaimer: I'm obviously not involved with the TV show..._

She had a headache. It was the dull, heavy ache of a hard yet restless sleep. Even as Cuddy felt the residue of unconsciousness slowly melting from her brain, she tried to hold on to the darkness. She was tired, exhausted even, and the weight of her body was just too much to bear. She didn't think she could even roll over, but the fog was lifting and her mind demanded she do something about the annoying beep at the side of her head.

_God, who changed the tone on the alarm?_ She tried to stretch, but her body wasn't responding and there was something pinching her right arm. _Ugh! I must have slept on it and cut the circulation._

The alarm stopped, but a steady clamoring of movement and other strange noises followed. She felt herself getting aggravated. Of all the mornings for House to decide to get up early he chooses the one day she'd rather sleep in?

"What are you doing?" she mumbled, her mouth dry and unwieldy. Why was he up so early? House never woke up first.

"Cuddy?"

_That's not House._

"Cuddy, can you hear me?"

_Wilson. What is Wilson doing in here?_

Cuddy tried to open her eyes, finding it much more difficult than it should have been. Her lids felt glued closed, and it took great strength and focus to open them. Even then, she couldn't seem to keep her eyes steady; they wanted to roll back in her head.

"Cuddy? Can you hear me?" She could feel he was leaning in close to her, but everything is just too heavy and aching. Her eyes, limbs, head…nothing seemed to be following her mind's instructions.

She felt fingers pulling on one of her eyelids and tried to gasp. Even that was difficult.

_What's wrong with me? _

When a light registered in her eye, a sudden fear washed over her. He was checking her pupil reaction! _Oh, God! What happened?_

She felt fingers suddenly pressed in the palm of her hand and knew what was coming next. Tapping into what strength reserves she could muster, she squeezed his fingers and fought to focus on him.

"Yes," she answered, but it sounded more like a croak. Her mouth was dry and didn't want to move any more than the rest of her body.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Cuddy felt her anxiety increase. His expression was fixed, emotionless. He was in full doctor mode.

"Yes," she answered again.

"Do you know where you are?"

The sterile room, glass wall and the medical equipment in the room was all she needed to verify her fears.

"Hospital," she said, but her voice was a cracked whisper. The fog was lifting, but she felt as if any minute she could fall back into oblivion.

_I'm so tired._

"Are you in any pain?" he asked.

Cuddy shook her head in the negative, and tried to take a deep breath. How could something so simple be so difficult?

_Oh, God! It's bad. _

"What happened?" She asked, gripped with fear and anxiety. _Where's House?_

"We don't know." He seemed to answer with all honesty, though his expression was still guarded. "You were brought in by ambulance. Your vitals were strong, and you were stable, but you weren't waking up."

She wasn't waking up? The last thing she remembered was falling asleep curled up next to House. His hand had been caressing her shoulder and back, and the rhythm of his heart beat had been hypnotic. She'd felt relaxed and peaceful.

_Where is House?_

They'd been talking about children, and…

"Rachel?" she suddenly asked, squeezing Wilson's hand again to stress the urgency in her question.

"She's okay," he reassured her. "She's with your sister."

_Julia._ _Rachel is with Julia._

Cuddy closed her eyes again as the anxiety and confusion washed over her.

_What happened during the night? How did Rachel get to Julia's? Why am I in the hospital? _

She tried to focus, to organize her thoughts and work through the haze. She had to gain some control over her body and emotions. And she didn't need to panic! It was important to stay calm and working through this one step at a time.

Wilson said she'd been brought in by ambulance. She wasn't waking up.

"Was I in an accident?" She asked. _Where is House?_

"No," Wilson rushed to assure her. "You were at home. You haven't sustained any injury as far as we can tell. But how do you feel? Can you describe it?"

She was unconscious? What did that mean? She'd been asleep. Even now she felt groggy, as if coming out of a long, deep sleep.

"I was sleeping," she said, looking at Wilson with a frown on her face. Was she missing something? She'd spent the day with House at the vineyard; they'd had dinner, and had that ridiculous food fight. She remembered the pregnancy test, the massage, the…

"It was more than that, Cuddy," Wilson responded in a gentle, soothing voice. He was concerned. She knew him too well to mistake it. "House went to great measures to wake you. You didn't budge at all. Even when the ambulance came, you didn't respond. They had to stick you three times to find a good vein for the fluids and you didn't even whimper. It wasn't just a deep sleep. You were unconscious."

_House tried to wake me._

He'd obviously been strategic in getting her to the hospital, but where was he? Had he been the one to call Julia? Had he taken Rachel to Julia's or had he ridden with her in the ambulance?

Wilson had pulled up one of the rolling stools and was sitting next to her going over her chart. She only half heard him as he went over her readings.

House had thought she was pregnant. He'd been so adamant the symptoms were real, but the pregnancy test had been negative. Had it been a false negative?

"Am I pregnant?"

Wilson's looked startled. "Pregnant?"

"House has been convinced I'm pregnant," she explained. "The home test was negative, but he was sure about the symptoms…"

"You're not pregnant," Wilson quickly answered.

Cuddy thought back to the past week and the various so-called symptoms. Dizziness. Feeling faint. Appetite changes. Lethargy. Sore muscles. She'd been able to explain away all of them. Except the rash. House had said it wasn't dry skin, but a rash. What kind of rash? She should have listened to him instead of distracting him. She'd been so sure it was nothing, but he'd clearly been concerned. And now she was in the hospital. And he was…

_Where is he?_

She felt the fear rising up inside of her. It was happening all over again. She was sick and they didn't know what was wrong. House would have some ideas. Hell, he'd probably come up with several alternative diagnosis as soon as the pregnancy test had come back negative last night. He'd probably been performing a DDX on her the whole time he was massaging her. Until she'd taken him in her mouth. That was the only thing that would have kept him from thinking. And he would have returned to his thought processes the minute he couldn't wake her.

_He must have the team running some test_

He was probably running the tests himself, she thought. He was looking for something specific. That's why he's not here.

"We've already got the lab running a series of panels, and we're going to need to get a urine sample," Wilson was saying as he looked down at the display on his cell phone that was vibrating in his hand. "It's House."

Cuddy watched as he turned away to answer the phone.

Of course it was House. She was in the middle of a health crisis and he was monitoring from a distance. He was involved every step of the way and he wouldn't stop until he had answers. He probably had the whiteboard dedicated to her and his team running millions of tests and planning even more. She was his new puzzle and he was probably driving everyone crazy obsessing over every detail.

Naturally he would notice things no one else would and he would mock them for their stupidity, never admitting his attention was any more than keen observation. He'd always been overly attentive to her; his obsession with every detail of her life would be creepy to anyone else. Most people would put out a restraining order to control his stalking tendencies. Yet, she'd found his attention endearing, appealing even. She'd always been flattered, and comforted by his single-minded focus on her. He was always there, watching out for her, caring for her.

_Except he's not here._

It was like déjà vu.

_He's not here._

Cuddy felt the frustration and anger begin to boil. Had he learned nothing these past few weeks? Had they grown so little? Why was it so damn hard just for him to stay with her? To hold her hand and tease her? To call her an idiot for being afraid? They'd talked about this. He understood how much she needed him to be there, just to be himself with her. Yet here she was again…alone.

Cuddy fought back the tears. He would never be there for her the way she needed. She knew that. As much as hurt, as betrayed as she felt, she knew what she was facing when she'd gone back to him. Hadn't she accepted it? When she'd gotten back together with him, hadn't she gone into it with her eyes open? Hadn't she been more aware of his failings and what they would mean for her?

She loved him. She didn't want him to change. Isn't that what she'd said? Believed? That meant she had to accept he wouldn't be emotionally available for her when she most needed it. He would hover in the background, lurking behind closed doors, monitoring the computer systems for every test result, reviewing every doctor's notes, and badgering the nurses during their rounds. But he wouldn't be there to hold her hand, to comfort her. That wasn't House. She'd been through it already. She knew it wouldn't change. He'd warned her. She knew what she was facing and had accepted it. Hadn't she?

And yet it hurt. It was easier to deal with in theory than when you were laying in a hospital bed. She was scared, and she didn't want to be alone.

_I'm always alone._

It was the same old internal argument. She was a strong, confident, successful business woman and mother. She could handle whatever life brought her. She didn't need rescuing. She didn't need a man to support her. She could handle it on her own. And yet there were times she just didn't want to make the journey alone. There were times she just felt tired, and empty, burdened by the weight of it all. There were times she just wanted someone with her.

_Not just anyone._

She should find comfort in the fact that Wilson was here, that she had friends and family who would be here, hovering and controlling, driving her crazy. She was surrounded by people who cared about her, who loved her. But there was only one person she wanted with her.

_House._

"We're going to schedule you for an MRI," Wilson said.

She turned her head away from him, willing the tears away as he returned to the seat beside her.

"Cuddy?" He asked, concern clearly evident in his voice, but she ignored him. "Are you okay? Are you in pain?"

_He's a drug addict._

She couldn't forget that. Not this time. It wasn't all about her, about what she wanted and needed. When she'd entered into this relationship with him, she'd come in with her eyes open. No delusions this time. No fairytale hopes and schoolgirl dreams. Their relationship was real, with real pain, real insecurities, and real issues. Their relationship was based on a love that overcame obstacles together, even when they were apart. She couldn't forget this. She couldn't become so self-absorbed that she forgot who they were.

_He's afraid, too. _

And when House was afraid, he…

"Is he okay?" she finally asked.

She saw the frown along his brow, just before his eyes widened in sudden comprehension.

"He's fine," Wilson reassured her. "He's worried, and terrorizing the staff, but he's here. He's okay."

A tear rolled down her cheek in spite of her efforts, and she looked away again, staring out the window.

_I can do this. _

"Cuddy," Wilson said, taking her hand in his again.

She took a deep breath. Whatever was wrong with her, she'd face it. House would be lurking in the background, pulling all the strings, and she would get through it. She was a fighter. He was a fighter. They'd figure this out. She couldn't allow herself to get sucked into the same vortex she'd slipped into the last time. House may not do everything she wanted him to do, may not be all the things she wanted him to be, but he was everything she wanted. She knew that. If she'd learned anything these past few weeks, it was that.

"Cuddy, look at me," Wilson gently demanded.

She looked at him, determined to pull herself together. They needed to figure out what was going on with her. They needed to get to the bottom of this sooner than later.

"You said a MRI," she said. "What are we looking for?"

"He was frantic," Wilson said. "He almost threw the paramedics out the back of the ambulance when they couldn't find a vein. You'll probably have to re-staff the emergency room because half of them will probably resign after the abuse they endured tonight, and I'm pretty sure the lab technicians are suicidal right now. But he never left your side."

Cuddy stared at him, trying to take in what he was saying.

"He's been here for hours, hovering over you, calling everyone morons, and generally being a pain in the ass." Wilson smiled at her. "The only reason he's not here right now is because he had one of his epiphanies. He threatened castration if I left you alone. Of course, I'll probably endure extreme punishment for not calling him as soon as you woke, but that's beside the point."

Cuddy searched his face_. House had been here?_ _The whole time? By her side?_

Wilson smiled at her, using his thumb to brush a tear from her cheek.

"Is this how you do it? Find the unconscious woman in the hospital, and make your move?"

They both turned to look at the man standing in the doorway. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was spiking in every direction, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

_House._

"No wonder you can't sustain a relationship." He glared at Wilson as he handed him an IV bag.

Cuddy smiled at him, feeling a sense of joy wash over her.

"I come bearing a picnic in a bag, guaranteed to get you out of this bed and back into mine," he waggled his brows at her.

_He's here. _

House took her hand and grinned at her. His eyes were tired, but clear.

_He's here._


	20. Chapter 20

_Thank you for your interest in the story. I appreciate the encouraging words and wonderful reviews. I'd like to especially thank ximprobablex, whose e-mail came at just the right time. Sometimes you need just the right words to provide that boost._

_The bold italics in the second section are from the S7 episode "Changes"._

_Disclaimer: Not involved with Shore._

"Wilson already checked my pupils," Cuddy told House, only mildly irritated as he examined her. She was glad he was here. She'd rather he stop checking her pulse and instead raise it with lusty kisses, but there was no way she was going to complain. He was here.

"Would you rather be examined by a fashionable but average oncologist or a handsome, exceptional diagnostician?"

"There's not a third option?"

House grinned at the teasing and leaned in close to her. "You'll never want another doctor after me," he said. "I am very thorough." His lips lightly brushed hers and Cuddy sighed.

"Ahem, I'm still here," Wilson reminded them, feigning embarrassment.

"Which is the only reason I'm postponing the breast exam," House quipped.

"I already did that too," Wilson responded dryly.

House whipped around and glared at Wilson causing Cuddy to bite back a laugh.

"I'll have to redo the vaginal exam," Wilson continued, enjoying the opportunity to jerk House around. "It was inconclusive."

House glared at him and jerked the IV bag from his hand. "You can stop trolling. Not even the man you pretend to be in your dreams could sustain that ecstasy. "

"I'm here," Cuddy interrupted. "And as flattering as you think this little pissing contest would be to a sick woman, it's really creepy."

Wilson smiled at Cuddy. "I'll check-in on you later," he said. "Just call the nurse if he gets too annoying. I've already ordered Lorazapam as needed."

"Out!" House said, as he began connecting the IV.

Cuddy grinned. Strangely enough, watching the two of them spar relieved some of her anxiety.

"What's in the bag?"

"Brandade de morue," he answered in his best French.

"Hmmm. They may have gone a little overboard with the puree."

"I'll talk to the chef," he said, leaning toward her to whisper. "I don't think he's really French."

Cuddy chuckled.

As he finished clearing the line and programming the drip level, Cuddy reached out to take his hand.

"What is it, House?"

"Ampicillin."

"Infection?" She asked. "Wilson said my WBC was only slightly elevated."

"It is," House answered.

"Then why do you think it's an infection?"

"It fits."

Cuddy frowned.

"You know symptoms don't always present in the traditionally accepted manner," he said. "

"You think I'm a Zebra?" Cuddy asked, referencing the all-too-common quote taught from the very beginning of medical school: "when you hear hoof beats think horses, not zebras." House didn't deal with horses. If a case reached him, it was almost guaranteed to be a zebra. As a brilliant diagnostician, he always thought outside of the box, never depending on the usual symptoms to map the way.

"I think you're a goddess."

House moved the rolling stool closer to her bed and sat beside her, still holding her hand.

"That's not why my white blood cells aren't rising up to fight an infection," she said, thinking aloud. "It must be a resistant strain. My immune system is saving energy waiting for reinforcements."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," House squeezed her hand. "We have to wait for the cultures to come back, but until then we need you on a broad spectrum. Once we have identified the infection, we'll go from there."

Cuddy searched his expression.

"You know how it works," he said. "Your immune system was down after the procedure on your kidney, and you probably picked up something from Rachel. That daycare she's in is like a petri dish."

He was right. She shouldn't get too concerned until they understood what they were facing. And there was no reason to believe it was anything serious. She didn't need to get worked up like she did when they found the spot on her kidney. Besides, whatever she faced, she wasn't alone this time. House was here.

"I heard about this guy who couldn't wake his girlfriend up," she said after a moment. "I heard he was frantic."

"The reports of panic are highly exaggerated."

"He must have been trying to wake her for a while for him to call an ambulance."

House shrugged then grinned at her. "I heard he tried to wake her in a highly erotic way."

"That didn't work?" Cuddy's eyes widened in shock.

"I know, right?" House said. "Then he shook her, and yelled at her, even doused her with a little water while he dialed 911, but she was out of it."

"But her vitals were okay?"

"More than okay," he confirmed. "She just wanted attention."

Cuddy grinned.

"It's probably some elaborate plot to see how the guy works under pressure," House offered as an explanation. "You know, see if he'd forget about the kid, call the family, or take off for a bar when the perverted oncologist took over in the emergency room."

"She sounds devious."

"She's brilliant," he said. "And hot."

"That matters," Cuddy agreed.

"Everything matters."

She grinned at him.

"What did he do with her daughter?"

"Well, he knew his girlfriend was stable, so while he waited for the ambulance, he called the aunt to come pick up the kid," he explained. "Of course, then he had to put some clothes on his girlfriend since they'd been havingwild monkey sex before she went to sleep. He didn't want the paramedics to be distracted by her bodacious ta-tas."

"Very considerate of him," Cuddy said.

"He's that type of guy."

"Clearly."

House propped his arms on the bed, and began to caress her arm with his free hand.

"He packed a bag for the little one," he continued the story. "He packed too much according to her aunt. Ungrateful bitch. She spent a lot of time rolling her eyes…and describing how she would kill him if anything happened to her sister."

"She's still angry at him."

"She doesn't like him."

"She's scared."

"Who isn't?"

They stared at each other in silent understanding.

"It helped when the little pirate didn't want to leave with her, but wanted to stay with the ass."

"It probably shouldn't have surprised her," Cuddy said. "He's actually very good with her. Even if he does let her watch inappropriate cartoons and teaches her to lie."

"Pop culture and survival skills!" House exclaimed. "Important lessons for any kid wanting to survive the bully on the playground."

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "These lessons deserve merit badges."

"See? You understand."

Cuddy grinned. "Years of brainwashing."

"Your mother continues to be proud."

House brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

"I heard he went postal on the paramedics," she encouraged him to continue.

"Not really," he shrugged. "Well, except for calling them all morons…and the black eye."

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"You can't blame the guy really," House said defensively. "Those idiots couldn't find a vein and kept stabbing her. Then when he took the needle to take care of it they tried to push him out of the ambulance. You don't think he'd let that happen, do you?"

"This sounds like a made-for-TV movie," she said.

"It was nightmare." His eyes bore into hers as he continued. "He didn't want to mess up or stir up a stink that would embarrass her later. He was just trying to do the right thing." House looked down at her hand and entwined their fingers. "He just kept thinking there was no way he'd let down again. There was no way he'd leave her alone."

Cuddy watched the varied expressions cross his face, evident even as he tried to remain stoic, and felt the tears begin to pool in her eyes.

"He's a bit of a screw-up," he said.

"She's not so easy either."

She almost lost her breath at the tenderness in his blue eyes as they gazed at her.

"He had to push things along in the emergency room," he said.

"I imagine that was quite a sight."

He nodded. "It was a good thing his friend was there. He's an idiot, but people like him."

"Sometimes it's not about like or dislike," she said. "It's about catching more flies with honey."

"You can catch them with shit too," he argued. "What's the point in that anyway? Who even wants the flies? It makes more sense to pull out the swatter and kill them all."

Cuddy laughed.

"That probably wouldn't speed things up in the emergency room."

"True," he agreed. "But if there are that many flies in the emergency room, we have a bigger problem."

Cuddy couldn't stop smiling as she removed her hand from his trace the line of his jaw. "I'm glad you're here."

"You didn't think I would be."

"That's not true," she said.

"Yes it is," he gently disputed. "I saw the look on your face when I came in."

Cuddy couldn't argue. It was true. She'd run through the gamut of emotions when she'd awakened. There was no reason to deny it.

"I was disoriented," she said. "And scared."

He nodded his head in understanding, and took her hand, turning the palm toward his lips so he could kiss her palm.

"You hungry?" He asked.

She grinned. "Are we talking about food?"

"I am," he said. "But if you're talking about something else, I should let you know I have a hospital fantasy."

"You have several hospital fantasies."

"More than several," he admitted.

"A plethora," she agreed. "But it's too early for me to get a sponge bath."

"Dammit!"

She chuckled.

"We should probably order up some pudding and mouthwash."

She turned up her nose. "That's a strange combination."

"Please," he sighed. "The pudding is for me, mouthwash for you. Your breath is horrendous."

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

**_Taub : He just won $42 million in the state lottery. I think I read about this lucky bastard in the paper._**

**_House : You sure you don't mean the lucky bastard whose grandkids snorted his winnings till he drank himself to death with drain cleaner? Or the lucky bastard who was found naked and penniless in a strip club parking lot with his winning number tattooed on both testicles?_**

**_Thirteen : Neuro-otological pathology could have caused loss of balance._**

**_House : Calorics were normal._**

**_Taub : Sure, some people will screw up anything, but some won't. That kind of cash, he has a chance to turn a miserable life around._**

**_House : Miserable stays miserable. Happy doesn't buy lottery tickets in the first place._**

**_Thirteen : Our level of happiness is set. It's in our DNA. No cash payout's gonna change that._**

**_House : It's like there's two of me._**

**_Foreman : The guy repairs appliances. He's probably got toxic brain damage from years of working with toxic chemicals._**

**_Taub : Or his sudden disease came from his sudden millions. He's buying something, collecting something, ceramics, precious metals, which gave him atherosclerosis of his carotid arteries._**

Cuddy listened to their conversation as the tech pushed her back into the room and began connecting the call button and power plug to the hospital bed. She'd just come back from an MRI to find House was conducting a DDX on his new patient.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"That's a rhetorical question, right?"

Cuddy glared at him defiantly. "You can't do your DDX somewhere else? Like in your office?"

"And leave you? Not a chance."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, but he ignored her, simply turning to direct the team to check for toxins and get a "real" history on the patient. She was aggravated. She didn't want to have his team hanging out in her room. Just because she wanted House with her didn't mean she wanted his ducklings following along behind him and bursting into her room whenever they got new test results or a new symptom!

"Let me help you," House said as he began to straighten the sheet and blanket. The nurses and techs never returned the bed clothes to a normal state after tests. They always seemed to leave them waded up and tangled around the patient.

"It's okay," she grumbled and pushed his hands away. "I'm going to go to the bathroom anyway."

"Okay. I'll help you."

"I don't need your help," she snapped, pushing the covers further away from her as she sat at the side of the bed preparing to stand.

"I'm just offering to push the IV stand, not be the first human catheter," he responded abruptly.

"I can do it myself."

And she could! She wasn't a complete incompetent. She felt weak, and a little dizzy, but she wasn't so sick she couldn't walk a few steps to the bathroom.

Cuddy could feel his eyes on her as she stood and pulled the IV stand toward her. Although she was rolling it beside her, she was slightly leaning on it for balance and support. He was sure to notice.

"I'm fine," she said before he could comment.

"Of course you are," he bit back. "You don't need me. You don't need anyone."

Cuddy sighed in irritation and intentionally ignored him as she entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She was careful not to tangle the IV line as she took care of business.

She was in a terrible mood. It wasn't his fault. Well, not all of it. He was just being House, and in his own way, showing support. That's what she'd wanted: him to be there, to be himself. She knew that would include him being annoying and obnoxious.

If she were honest, it really wasn't his team or the fact they were conducting a DDX in her room that had her upset anyway. She was scared. Her time in the MRI had increased her anxiety, and provided the opportunity for her to focus on varying worst case scenarios. She was a nervous wreck, putting on a show of strength, while on the inside she was driving herself crazy with "what-if" questions and a growing army of regrets. It didn't help she'd heard House spouting his philosophy on the genetics and the permanency of misery.

"Dr. Cuddy?" A gentle voice called, coinciding with a lit knock on the door. "Can I help you with anything?"

Cuddy was used the paper towel she'd just used to dry her hands to open the door. "No," she answered. "I'm fine."

House was sitting in the chair by the window, his chin resting on the curve of his cane as he watched her walk through the door and the nurse disappear into the bathroom. She was checking the urine collection for measurement and retrieving a sample for the lab.

"They'll want to check your BP and temperature soon," he said. "Want me to grab the equipment so you can do that yourself, too?"

She gave him a tolerant look before carefully returning to the bed, remade since she'd been in the bathroom.

"Dinner should be delivered shortly, Dr. Cuddy," the nurse said as she made notes on the file. "If you need anything, just press the call button. We're ready to help you in any way we can."

"I will, Josephine," Cuddy answered. She was being kind, and helpful, if a little too attentive. "I appreciate it."

Josephine nodded and turned her eyes toward her scowling boyfriend. "Thank you for your help, Dr. House," she said, nervously. "I'll get this sample to the lab immediately."

House had the courtesy to nod at her before she scurried out of the room.

"You don't have to be so damn intimidating," she said. "She's just doing her job."

He glared at her. "What is your problem?"

"Besides the fact I'm sick and you're an ass? Not a thing."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he retorted. "I haven't done anything wrong here. Unless hanging out while you have tests, and making your bed like a stupid candy striper is a crime. If you didn't want me watching your bare ass hanging out of the back of that gown, you should have let me help you instead of declaring your strength and independence."

She stared at him as he came closer to the bed.

"Maybe I should order you an enema," he said. "Because this whole attitude you've got going here is shit!"

Cuddy bit her lip as she looked away from him.

"I thought you wanted me here," he said, and she could detect the hint of hurt in his tone.

"I do," she sighed, feeling ashamed of herself, of her behavior. "I'm sorry."

He pushed a puff of air through his lips and shook his head. "I don't want an apology. I want an answer."

She was fidgeting with the seam of the sheet against her chest as she felt him watching her. Her stomach felt queasy and a cold sweat seemed to be breaking out on her skin.

"Are you still miserable?" she asked.

House frowned at her, clearly puzzled by her words.

"What?"

"You told the team earlier that miserable stays miserable," she explained. "Are you still miserable?"

He seemed to deflate at her words, his frustration and anger replaced with perplexity. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he searched her expression and she felt herself squirm against the intensity. She was acting like a freak, emotional and unpredictable. She was angry at herself for feeling so lost and out-of-control. One minute she wanted to rip his head off and the other she just wanted to run, to get the hell out of dodge.

"You're angry at me because you think I'm miserable?" He asked. "What? You think I'm not happy with you?"

"Don't analyze me," she said defensively.

"Why not? You're analyzing me!"

"Screw you!" She snapped. "I woke up in the hospital, I have no idea if I really have an infection or if it's something else, or how serious it is, and you're acting like a complete jerk instead of answering a simple question. I don't need this crap!"

He still looked bewildered. "Then tell me what you do need, because I don't know."

"I need to know if you're miserable!"

She was yelling. That response was definitely louder than she'd intended.

He seemed to take a calming breath, determined not to react with equal impatience.

"I've never been happier," he said. "You know that."

"Do I?"

She could have slapped him and gotten the same stunned response. He stood up and began to pace; the silence became unbearable.

"What am I doing wrong?" He finally asked.

Her heart broke as she saw the pain and uncertainty in those blue eyes.

"I'm giving you everything I know how to give," he said. "Why isn't it enough? Why isn't it ever enough?"

Cuddy felt the tears pool in her eyes. It was happening again. She was undermining his feelings for her, belittling all he did for her. She didn't want to hurt him, to make him feel like he'd failed her. He hadn't failed her at all. He was there. He was with her, just like she wanted, and yet she was attacking him. What the hell was going on with her?

"Do you want me leave?" He asked with more brokenness than she could handle. She began to cry.

"No, I don't want you to leave," she said and grabbed a tissue from the box on the side table. She tried to fight back the sobs, but wasn't doing such a great job.

"Talk to me," he said.

He stood still and tense at the foot of the bed, watching her, and struggling with his own emotions if the set of his jaw and the cloud of emotion that dimmed his eyes were an indication.

It was ironic to hear him say those words. She was the one that usually pleaded with him to open up, to talk about his thoughts and feelings. Yet, over the past few weeks, he'd been consistently breaking that mold and actively pursuing openness beyond anything she could have dreamed or expected.

"I'm afraid," she admitted beneath a sniffle. "I know it's too early to panic. I know I shouldn't be thinking the worst, and worrying about what could happen, but I can't stop myself."

"Cuddy," he said her name softly.

"I was trying to force myself to be positive," she explained. The one sentence said so much.

There was an almost indiscernible pause before he dropped his head and leaned heavily on his cane.

"And if miserable stays miserable and our levels of misery and happiness are predetermined, what difference does being positive make?"

Cuddy wiped the tears from her eyes with the tissue. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like I can't be rational at all." Her hands were trembling, and she felt her pulse increase. "I'm a doctor. I know what to expect, what we're waiting for…I know there's no indication that this is anything terminal or even debilitating. But I'm freaking out about this more than I did at the cancer scare! I know I'm being unreasonable, but I just want to scream. I want to get out of here."

House frowned. "When did it start?"

"What do you mean 'when did it start'?

"What?" She asked, confused by the question.

"You're having a panic attack," he said. "When did it start?"

Panic? Intense fear and apprehension, racing heart, feeling faint, nausea, fight or flight feelings… Cuddy closed her eyes and groaned in frustration. Why didn't she realize it? Put it together? And since when did she have panic attacks?

"I started feeling nervous in the MRI," she finally answered him. "I was having crazy thoughts and talking myself out of the insanity of them."

"You started feeling more agitated when you got back to the room?"

"Yes," she agreed.

She watched as he began moving his thumb around his index finger as he blankly looked around the room. He was on to something. She could almost see symptoms, details and options shifting from one internal file to another as he processed information. The longer he stood there thinking, the more frightened she felt.

"I'm scared, House," she said. "I don't want to be sick. I don't want to die."

Her words seemed to shake House out of his reverie; he immediately came to sit by her side again. "I need to know it's going to be okay," she said. "I need to believe…and I know that's stupid. Hoping is not going to change anything. It's not going to remove an infection. It's not going to fix the problem. It means nothing."

House pulled her into his arms and held her.

"But I need it, House," she cried. "I need that hope. I need to believe things don't stay the same. I need to know we have some power. We can do something to make it better."

She was sobbing. She didn't even recognize herself. It was as if she was someone else entirely. How bad would this get?

"Shhh," House tried to silence her as his hand ran up and down her back, soothing her.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled into his neck.

He leaned back to look at her, gently brushing her hair from her face.

"I'm happy," he said. He caressed her cheek, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from beneath her eyes. "I'm not happy you're sick. I'm not happy you're crying hysterically over nothing. I'm not happy you won't have sex with me in this hospital bed. But I've never been happier with life as a whole."

Cuddy stared wide-eyed at him. He wasn't a big fan of hope and faith. He was more about truth and dealing with reality head-on. Yet here he was telling her what she needed to hear even though believing it would fly in the face of his life tenets.

How many years had he been miserable? Hopeless? Believing any attempt at happiness was futile? And now, he was happy, happy with her, happy because they had each other. He was happy not only with the now, but with the belief they could make it last.

"I don't know how much power we have to change things; life has a way of screwing us over," he said. "But if hope, and positive thinking, or faith in the future makes you feel better right now, if it helps you endure right now, then fuck logic!"

Cuddy let out an awkward, half-hearted laugh. "You don't believe that."

"I believe in us," he said, simply, and shrugged. "I'm thinking that's hope."

_I believe in us_. She repeated it in her mind. The depth and magnitude of those words took her breath away.

They'd been through so much together over the years. These last few weeks had been bliss, a well-deserved respite after so much suffering and heartache, so much fear and confusion. Life was never going to easy. It would never be perfect, without challenge, without pain. But they'd found their footing; they had a solid foundation. Whatever storms came, whatever trials they faced, and tests they endured, they would not be defeated.

"The only thing we really do control is our ability to choose each other," she said. "To choose our love when nothing else matters or makes sense?"

"That's got to be the cheesiest thing I've ever heard," he said.

House grinned. She chuckled.

"There's truth in cheese," he conceded, just before his lips brushed her.

Cuddy kissed him, glad to be in the safety of his arms, in the warmth of his embrace. She melted against him as he nipped at her bottom lip, breathing in the peace that always came when they were in sync.

"Thank you," she whispered against his mouth.

Instead of kissing her again, he smacked his lips as if tasting and pondering.

He leaned back to look at her. His eyes did not hold the tenderness she anticipated. Instead, he was fretful.

"You're on the wrong medicine," he said. "We need to put you on Vancomycin."

"Vancomycin?" She asked. It was an antibiotic mostly used to treat resistant infections that are often more serious and life-threatening.

"You've got MRSA."


	21. Chapter 21

_I'm not in the medical field, but MRSA has hit me close to home. In this story, the details of the infections are not fully or medically explored, but are approached more from my own experiential perspective. From the onset, it was always expected to be incorporated into the story as a catalyst to for fictional healing as well as personal healing. _

_Special thanks to LittleGreg for her friendship and support, Vicpei1 for her kindness, steadfast commitment and tolerance, and to Freya – who understood more than anyone. And thanks to a group of friends who kept me sane during some very dark months: Ali, Cee, Shar, Wende, Lisa1, Lisa2, Muna, & Vic. And thank you Meg and Aya, my Cuddy-lovers who challenge and encourage._

_Disclaimer: Not involved with Shore, Thank God._

He was wearing his reading glasses.

Cuddy found herself smiling as she watched him. How often had she admired him over the past few months as he read his numerous journals and books? She never grew tired of it, the way he frowned in concentration, shook his head in disgust, or grinned as he silently mocked the words on the page. Even now as he was solely focused on the MRI images he examined on his laptop, she was drawn to him.

"You're watching me again," he said, never turning his eyes from the screen.

"Again?"

"Like you do when we have to sit through the 100th viewing of The Little Mermaid, or when I'm reading a story to Rachel," he said, and glanced at her over the rim of the glasses. "Or when we're reading in bed."

Why would she ever think he didn't notice?

"I can't help it," she said. "You're sexy."

"Sexy?" He quirked his brow skeptically.

"Very," she confirmed with a saucy grin.

"You mean all this time I thought you were attracted to my limp, it was my blindness?"

"Uh, huh," she nodded in affirmation.

"Glass over wood!" He declared in horror. "Such blasphemy!"

"I wouldn't go that far," she said. "It's more like foreplay."

"You know I'm going to use this information for my benefit."

"Somehow I think that will benefit me, too."

His attention returned to the screen as he clicked through the images.

"You can look through them as much as you want," she said. "The pictures will still be the same."

He'd been holding his expression still, too still. He was making a concerted effort to appear disconnected and unconcerned. It was a dead giveaway.

House didn't look at her as he dropped his head and used his left leg to pull the rolling stool over to the bed. He used his cane to pull the table holding the computer behind him.

It wasn't good. She knew that from the minute he'd stated she had the Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus infection. It was an ugly strain of staph bacteria, resistant to antibiotics commonly used to treat ordinary staph infections. House had identified it from the symptoms, some routine, some not so much, but as soon as he'd pieced it together, he'd demanded to see the MRI results immediately. They may not be able to rush the cultures to verify his diagnosis, but they could examine the images to see if the infection had caused any indicative damage.

House propped his elbows on the side of the bed and clasped his hands together.

"How bad is it?" She asked.

He took a deep breath before meeting her eyes. "You have some tissue damage around your left kidney and adrenal gland."

Cuddy let her head fall back against the pillow and closed her eyes. It wasn't as if she didn't expect it. As soon as MRSA was mentioned, she knew she'd most likely acquired it during the kidney procedure. Unfortunately, it was often spread in hospitals. Surgery, illness or other conditions that weaken the immune system created higher risk factors. Since MRSA predominantly consisted of soft tissue degradation, the logical thought progression pointed to her kidney being affected…and the adrenal gland.

"I guess I have an additional excuse to blame my moods on hormones," she said with a dry despondency.

"You'll need to be on the Vancomycin for about 6-8 weeks," he said. "We'll need to do weekly Vanco troughs to monitor the levels in your system. And we should consider…"

"House?" She interrupted him. "I know the drill."

He stared at her.

Since she'd found herself in the hospital, he'd been uncharacteristically accommodating and more than supportive. He'd remained at her side, an attentive doctor monitoring and supervising her case, the passionate advocate fighting for her comfort and needs, and the faithful boyfriend keeping her calm and laughing. He was so perfect it felt like a dream. Except for the few minutes when she'd been having the anxiety attack, she'd not seen the slightest glimpse of anxiety. But it was there. It was there in the way he didn't grumble and complain, or respond to her temper with his own fit of rage, or mock daytime television. It was there in the way he paced along the side of the bed, in the way he unconsciously twisted and bounced his cane, in the way he neurotically moved the water pitcher and Kleenex box around on the table. It was there in his textbook bedside manner. But right now, it was there in the shadow of distress that overcast the blue of his eyes.

"Show me," she said.

There was a brief pause before he nodded and turned the laptop toward her.

He watched her as she filed through the images. It wasn't good, but it was by no means as bad as it could have been. The damage wasn't so severe she couldn't heal given time. She was healthy. And once the active infection was beaten, her body could begin the restoration process. Yet even as she offered up the thoughts of encouragement, she felt the hand of fear grip her. The wild card was the infection. So much depended on how well she responded to the antibiotics. There was also the caveat of drug reactions. With such aggressive antibiotics for an extended period of time, the likelihood of side effects increased exponentially. The next few weeks would be a tough and arduous journey even if things went as planned, but she could still see a reason to be optimistic.

House didn't do optimism. He'd encouraged her to hope because it was what she needed, not because he embraced the ideology at all. He'd said he believed in her, he believed in their love. That only meant he was drowning in the certainty that he would soon be stripped of everything that mattered to him. That's what she saw reflected in his eyes; it was what scared her the most.

"I'm going to be okay," she said, taking his hand in hers. Even as she said it, she knew it was a useless platitude. They were just words. They meant nothing. They weren't grounded in facts or truths. They were based on blind hope and faith, and desperate need for them to be true. They were words that didn't matter to House.

He nodded. "I know," he whispered.

Cuddy ignored the patronizing lie.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

She was trying to rest. She really was. As if rest were even possible in a hospital. Between the nurses checking her vitals, the scheduled medications, the blood tests, the DDX being conducted in her room and now her mother visiting, Cuddy was ready to be sedated.

"You should have another doctor treating you," her mother said. Arlene Cuddy was a force of nature when she made a decision she expected others to follow.

"I'm going to be fine, Mother." How often was she going to say that over the next few weeks?

"House is schtupping you," Arelene continued. "He's hardly capable of thinking clearly, as proven by my own experience in this hospital."

"You're just like the other morons," he replied in a scathing tone. "Ready to sue the doctor who SAVED YOUR LIFE."

"House!" Cuddy glared at him, silently hushing him.

"Yes, you saved my life," Arlene acknowledged haughtily. "But at what cost?"

"I'm here to heal, not place a value on your life; take it up with Medicare!"

"House, please!" Cuddy groaned as she rolled her eyes and almost collapsed back into the bed.

"Play your bully routine somewhere else," Arlene bit back at him.

"Will you both please shut up?"

"You think I'm so stupid I don't realize what's going on here?" Arlene ignored Cuddy and focused her ire solely on House.

"She said it," House said to Cuddy. He was a child.

Arlene moved in closer, a lioness defending her cub.

"I have it figured out, you bonehead," she said. "The reason you don't see patients is because you're afraid you'll start to care, not because they are lying idiots." Arleen had stepped into his personal space and was fiercely glaring at him as she spoke. "They have pasts; they have behaviors and ways of thinking that are great puzzles for you, but it goes beyond that. You get too close to these so-called puzzles, you see into them and care about them, and that gets to you!"

"You should sue the hospital," House said in that masterful condescending way. "Something must have happened during surgery that damaged your brain."

"You strut around here acting like a selfish bastard, but it's just a pretense," she continued. "You're just hiding. You're a coward."

"You got me. I'm afraid people will think I'm Wilson."

Arlene rolled her eyes. "Clearly you must have a heart and soul for my daughter to be so enamored with you for so many years."

House glanced over at Cuddy and she smiled tenderly at him. She couldn't argue with her mother's conclusions, no matter how uncomfortable House was becoming under her mother's evaluation.

"If you have to put on such armor to protect yourself from the average patient, how are you ever going to survive being here with Lisa through this and still think clearly enough to give the right diagnosis?" Arlene demanded.

"House is the best doctor there is," Cuddy defended him.

"I don't doubt that, Lisa," her mother said as she turned to face her. "I've seen him in action and I know his history. He's as brilliant as you say, and I'm not questioning his skill. He's also a pain in the ass and I'd gladly kick him to the curb. But anyone can see that he adores you. So much he can hardly breathe at the thought of losing you. How's he going to be the doctor you need when he's terrified of losing the person he needs the most?"

Cuddy turned to look at House. He was standing at the foot of the bed, wide-eyed; looking panicked, and a little lost. Uh, oh! She thought. Her mom had hit a home run. She'd not only uncovered House as a fraud, but left him bare, his fears and weakness exposed. This could get ugly.

"Mom," Cuddy said, reaching out so Arlene would take her hand. "I have a hospitalist supervising my case, and Wilson is technically my attending. I'm sure together they will be able to do the right thing."

"Really?" Arlene snapped. "What if this turns out to be bad – God forbid – and he has to act as your proxy? Do you really think he's going to be capable of doing the right thing when all he can think about is his own pain? He's a cesspool of neediness. There's no way he'll choose to do what you want over what he needs."

Cuddy felt as if she'd been hit in the gut. It wasn't as if she hadn't considered this scenario. She'd been witnessing him slowly, surreptitiously unraveling the past few hours. Most people wouldn't notice it. But then, most people avoided him. Those who didn't focused on his boorish misbehavior and irreverence. They wouldn't notice the restless pacing, or interminable way he played with the items throughout the room. They wouldn't notice the way he chewed the inside of his lip, or the way he stroked his brow. They wouldn't notice he was rubbing his thigh with increasing regularity, and leaning more heavily on his cane.

She hadn't said anything to him. She hadn't pushed him to talk, either. They'd both been going through the motions, and ignoring the elephant in the room. She cautiously teased him, while at the same time looked for signs. She was worried about him. Last time she'd been sick he'd taken vicodin just to have the strength to stay in the room with her. How long could he remain vigil by her bed, feigning confidence, before he cracked under the pressure?

"I'm going to go get some coffee," he suddenly said.

A fist of foreboding gripped her gut as she watched him leave.

"He's a wreck," her mother said.

Cuddy wanted to cry. She wasn't even afraid for herself. She'd already worked through that once they'd established the diagnosis and she'd seen the scans. There was every reason to believe she would be fine. And for some reason, she felt confident she would be able to fight the infection with ease. House was a different story. He wasn't prone to such faith, nor was he inclined to steady plodding in facing problems and challenges. He fought and denied; he deflected and hid. He self-medicated.

"I love him," Cuddy said.

"I know you do." Her mother sat down beside the bed. "For the life of me, I don't know why."

"I could write a book on all the reasons and you still wouldn't understand," Cuddy said. "And even if you did, you'd still find fault with him and belittle me."

"I don't belittle you," Arlene argued.

"I don't want to fight with you, Mother." Cuddy was tired, exhausted really. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with the ongoing dysfunction between her and her mother. "You've never approved of my decisions, or my life, or the men in my life. You've never even tried to get to know me, much less understand me. You've barely even loved me."

"Oh, stop it!" Arlene retorted. "Stop being so dramatic."

"I'm too sick to be dramatic, and I'm tired of fighting for your attention," she said. "You come in here and attack House for being afraid of losing me, for wanting to build a life with me. You treat him like he's some parasite because he actually loves me."

"Lisa…"

"I know he's afraid, and I know he's struggling to hold it together," Cuddy said. "But he knows me better than anyone. He stands with me and supports me, and he loves me like no one ever has or ever will. He actually values me, and I'll take that 'cesspool of need' any day of the week!"

Cuddy took a tissue from the box and began dabbing at her eyes to stop the tears from falling. _Tears? Really?_ It was quite annoying.

"You were right about his motives for not seeing patients, and you're right about his heart and soul, but you're wrong about him," she said. "We have something special. And whatever it is I'm facing, whatever happens, we'll get through it together because we believe in each other, even when no one else does."

Arlene stared at her, and Cuddy steeled her expression.

"He let you down last time." Arlene was more smug than sympathetic.

"You let me down all the time."

She knew her words were brutal, but she didn't care. She'd spent a lifetime on the receiving end of such ruthlessness, and she was fed up with it.

"You're comparing him with me?" Arlene appeared appalled.

"There is no comparison," Cuddy said, defiantly. "You'll never understand him, or what we share, any more than you understand me."

House limped back into the room, his cane hooked to his forearm, as he carried a cup in each of his hands.

"Coffee for me; frozen yogurt for the lady," he said. "Nothing for the barracuda."

Cuddy gave him a half grin as Arlene glowered at him.

"I'm leaving," she snapped as she stood and grabbed her purse.

"So soon?" House feigned disappointment.

"House," Arlene turned to him. "You are a self-centered, arrogant jerk with a God complex. If you can get over yourself for a while, and admit the truth, you might actually deserve the faith my daughter has placed in you."

Arlene looked at Cuddy. "I realize I'm not the mother you want, Lisa, but I am what you've got. And I'm here if you need me." She leaned down, kissed her on the cheek and marched out the door, pausing only a moment to remove the gown and protective wear that were mandatory when visiting with a MRSA patient.

"Was it something you said?" He asked, an infectious grin breaking through his tense jaw.

"You heard."

"I now have a boner."

"Classy." Cuddy rolled her eyes, but grinned back at him.

He looked away, almost shyly and began to shuffle the items on her table again. As much as he teased her and pretended all was well, he was wound to tight. Something had to give or he would surely snap.

"She's right you know?" He interrupted. "I won't be any good for you."

"Don't do this," she sighed, and gasped as a spasm shot up her back.

"What's wrong?" House jumped to alert, immediately examining her face and body with his most observant eyes.

"It's just a back spasm," she answered. Cuddy adjusted her body slightly in the bed to take the pressure off her left side. "I've had them over the past week or so, but they've been getting stronger, more intense."

"At the L2?" House asked for the location of the pain.

"It feels like it."

He closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the ceiling. She could see he was restraining himself, determinedly pushing down his emotions. It was more than just fear.

"House," she said. "It's just the location of the infection. We know what it is now. It's…"

"I should have seen it," he snapped at her. "I should have seen the symptoms and pieced it together."

Cuddy was stunned. He felt responsible? Guilty?

"Don't be ridiculous! You're not a psychic."

"Infectious Disease!" His retort was loud and biting. "It's my job, remember? I was too busy thinking of a phantom fetus to see what was right in front of me. And now you have an infection eating away at you."

"This is not your fault," Cuddy said, speaking in a calm, firm voice. "And we've caught it early."

House would have none of it. The pressure had built and the dam cracked; the emotions were ripping through his control.

"Your mother was right! I'm useless to you!" His eyes were wild as he exploded before her. "You're sick and in pain, and afraid for your life, and all I can think about is how I've failed you again, how I'll never make it without you!"

"You haven't failed me, House," she said. "And I'm not dying."

He was looking at her, but he didn't appear to see her at all. He was withdrawing, crawling into himself.

Cuddy watched him move over to the window, his limp as pronounced than she'd ever seen it. He leaned his head against the glass and he propped himself on the window sill. Her heart broke as she watched him.

"Talk to me, House," she softly commanded. "Don't shut me out."

"You need to rest," he answered, and she felt a desperate need to stop him from disassociating both physically and emotionally from her.

"I need you," she argued.

"You have me," he mumbled. He said the right words, but the intentional disregard was in his posture.

"No, I don't," she said as the tears welled up in her eyes again. Damn! When did she become such a weeper? "You're shutting me out. You're completely shutting down. I might as well be alone."

House flinched.

"I told you I needed you to be here with me," she said. "If you're going to shut me out, you might as well leave."

He whisked around, his eyes wide, frightened and slightly distraught. "You want me to leave?"

"I want you to talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" His voice trembled. She could drop it; make a teasing comment and soothe him. Or she could keep chipping away toward a breakthrough.

"I want you tell me what's going on," she said. "I want you to stop trying to protect me and talk to me."

"I AM talking to you."

Let the chipping begin. It was time to kill this elephant!

"You're talking AT me," she argued. "You're patronizing me. You are saying and doing all the right things, but you're not telling me the truth. You're not giving me you! You're pushing me away! And every time you do that, you play games with me…with us!"

"I'm here!" He yelled at her. "I haven't gone anywhere. I'm right here with you even though I've screwed everything up. I don't know how else to be with you. I don't know what else to do!"

House roughly ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I'd give anything to…"

He stopped himself. He was trembling; his eyes were glossy and frantic. He was nervously shaking his head, desperately seeking to keep his emotions at bay.

"What? 'You'd give anything to' what?" She pushed. "Tell me."

His head dropped and his shoulders slumped. "I want some pills," he said. His voice cracked and his words were broken. "You're sick and you need me strong, and I want to be there..."

House looked up at her, his eyes full of unshed tears. "I want to be here. I just don't know…I don't know that I can do this, Cuddy," he admitted, his shame and self-hate evident. "I should be able to what you need without pills, but I can't. I can't do this."

The tears fell down her cheeks.

"You just did."

House frowned, confusion adding to his tumult of emotions.

He was an addict. He was facing his greatest fears, fighting his ghosts and demons, battling a physiological response that bore down on him with the force of a tsunami. He felt like failure, and instead of deflecting or pretending, he was standing before her transparent and vulnerable. She'd never loved him more.

"Come here," she said.

"I can't," he whispered.

"Come here," she commanded, reaching out to him.

When he took her hand she squeezed and pulled him toward her.

"Hold me," she said.

"I can't," he said. "You have MRSA."

"As if that would stop you," she said. "Go put on the protection if you have to, but come here and hold me."

"I'm not big on protection."

Cuddy chuckled and pulled harder on him so he'd fall forward on the bed. As he caught himself, he brought her other hand to his cheek. His eyes immediately closed at her touch, and he took a deep breath. It never ceased to amaze how her touch affected him, a balm to his tormented soul. When would he realize he did the same for her?

"Hold me," she said again, and moved over in the bed to make room for him.

House swallowed, and her eyes dropped to his neck, tense and flushed and kissable.

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmured, but began to gently crawl into bed beside her. They needed this. He knew it as well as she did.

She turned and embraced him, holding him close as he took her in his arms. She kissed his neck and his jaw, until he brought his mouth to hers and touched her lips. It was gentle, yet desperate, a cauldron of emotions in a soft touch. His breathing began to take on a more regular cadence and she felt that familiar peace glide over her.

"It's okay," she said. "Everything you just said…is okay."

She wanted him to know he was safe. He could express his fears and anxieties no matter what she was experiencing.

"I didn't take anything," he assured her. As if she needed reassuring.

"I know," she said, and snuggled up to him. "This is what I need, you know?"

"Yeah." He kissed her head and then leaned back to look at her, to watch her.

She was drowning in the depth of those troubled blue eyes. "It's going to be okay."

"You don't know that." Zing! He was calling her on that cliché. Things may be looking up.

His fingers ran through her hair as his other hand began to run down her side, lightly caressing her.

"I'm sorry."

There was a time she thought he was incapable of saying those words. There was a time he'd remain locked up in his own guilt and shame, tortured by pain and recriminations, and never know the power of forgiveness, never know the freedom of moving past the hurt. He was beyond that now. He freely offered the words and the sincere sentiment, not only to soothe her, but to release the painful tension in his chest.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," she said as her hand stroked his cheek.

"I am trying."

"You don't have to try so hard," she said. "When you want pills, hold me. When you're scared, hold me. When you're feeling weak, hold me. God knows, I'm holding you. It's all that gets me through sometimes."

"Love doesn't save the day, Cuddy."

She sighed, sad to hear the words, but hard pressed to argue. "No, but it makes me feel like I can do anything."

His eyes searched her for a moment before he nodded, seeming to find the truth and comfort he needed. If they could just hold on to each other, maybe they could make it through.

"I love you," he said.

"You're just saying that so I'll have sex with you," she teased, knowing he needed some levity to break the intense cloud surrounding them.

He smiled. "How am I doing?"

"Is that your hand on my ass?" She grinned at him.

"I think it is." He gave her cheek a light squeeze before dipping between her legs.

"Then you're doing fine," she said. "Good in fact."


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: I'd like to thank all of the people who take the time to review stories. It means a lot to authors. It is not just an acknowledgement, or a thank you, it is an inspiration. I, for one, am very grateful to you._

_And thanks to my friends._

_There's a lot of angst in this one. Sickness and disease really suck._

_Disclaimer: Nope! I'm not connected to the show…There was a time I wish I had been._

She couldn't move.

Her breathing had grown shallow as she fought to remain completely still. Any movement seemed to shoot a piercing pain up her spine and across her abdomen.

Cuddy was exhausted. The pain had been increasing in intensity for two days. At first it was subtle and sporadic spasms, but over the past twenty-four hours it had become an unbearable and constant pain.

"Take a deep breath," Wilson said.

"Something's wrong," she said through clenched teeth.

"Breathe, Cuddy," he calmly repeated. "You need to try to relax. The tension is only making the pain worse."

She glared at him, her eyes wild and angry. "I can't do this anymore," she cried. "I need something for pain."

"We've already given your maximum dose," he answered. "Try to focus on your breathing and …"

"Where's House?" She cried out desperately. She was impatient with Wilson. She wanted to hit him, except that would require moving and she couldn't bear the resulting pain.

"He's gone to the lab," Wilson reminded her in his most gentle, soothing voice. "He'll be back in just a few minutes. You know he wouldn't go far. He hasn't left your side."

"Just shut up, Wilson!"

She didn't need his comforting reminders, or his sweetness! And she didn't need him to defend House. Cuddy was well aware he'd been here the whole time. She wasn't angry at House. She was in pain, and tired. She was scared.

They'd finally gotten the cultures back, which confirmed she did indeed have MRSA. Cuddy had been livid. Although the MRSA strain is present on the skin of about one-third of the population, it was generally harmless unless the bacteria gained access through an open wound or during a procedure. The bacteria were usually non-threatening to a healthy person, but could have serious effects on those with weakened or compromised immune systems. She was healthy, but it had taken time to even obtain a diagnosis, which left the bacteria free to grow.

The incubation time varied among cases of infection, as did the initial emergence of symptoms, but there was every indication Cuddy had contracted the virus during the procedure on her kidney. It had been covertly growing and spreading for the last few weeks until finally the symptoms began to show. Unfortunately, the symptoms were red herrings themselves, pointing to other diagnosis as it silently gained strength and momentum.

Cuddy had demanded an investigation. There were hospital protocols to protect against such outbreaks during surgeries and medical procedures. Something must have been overlooked, or someone was careless. She wanted to know what had happened, and as Dean of Medicine of this hospital, she was in the position to obtain answers. Instructions had been given, calls had been made, and soon the staff was abuzz with news of a hospital inspection and staff probe.

But then the pain in her back had become a distraction, or rather a focus. She'd tried to push through at first, but as the hours passed and the pain intensified, her strength waned. It didn't matter that she understood the pain was directly related to the location of the infection. Knowledge didn't stop the spasms, or the gnawing, steady pain that seemed to have become a constant.

She hadn't been able to sleep. She'd lost her appetite. She barely had the strength to talk. She couldn't think about anything except the pain. It was debilitating. And the narcotics did not appear to be working on any significant level. Cuddy was fighting panic.

"Please go," she said to Wilson. Having him hover was draining more than comforting, and the added frustration was only placing her body under more stress and tension.

"House doesn't want you to be alone."

"I don't care what House wants," she screamed. "I'm the one sick and I don't want you here!"

Cuddy suddenly gasped and clenched her fists as the spasms shot through her.

"Get out of the way," House pushed Wilson aside as he rushed in the room.

The tears filled her eyes, but Cuddy held them back. Crying only caused her torso to tremble and shake. _You can't move_. She told herself over and over again in a concerted effort to practice mind over matter. It wasn't working.

House took the IV tubing into his hand and prepped the port for an injection.

"House," Wilson said. "She's already maxed out on her meds."

"It's Prednisone," he said. "Her inflammation markers are off the charts."

"What?" Wilson stared at House, puzzled.

Cuddy looked up at House. She wanted to know the results, his thoughts on a prognosis; she wanted to know what was happening in her body, and what was happening with him. More than anything, she wanted to stop hurting.

"Oh, God," she whimpered.

House pushed the medication through the IV and looked down into her eyes. She was silently pleading with him to help her. Somehow she knew he understood.

"You need to leave, Wilson," House said.

Wilson stood still, watching House carefully, cautiously, concern marring his features. He seemed to be more concerned with House's condition than he was with hers.

"House, she needs…"

"I know what she needs," House snapped, keeping his voice low even though his tone was fierce. "I know pain."

He limped to the trash and pressed the foot lever with the tip of his shoe to toss the syringe and wrapping into the receptacle. His head was bowed, but he looked at Wilson out of the corner of his eye. "I've got this."

Wilson frowned, but then turned back to Cuddy who was watching them through glazed eyes. He must have seen something that helped him accept the situation because he nodded and quietly shuffled out of the room.

House came to sit on the stool by the bed. He didn't touch her and Cuddy was grateful. She knew he was having a hard time. They'd agreed he'd hold her when he felt lost and afraid, tempted to take a vicodin. But as the pain had increased, her ability to withstand his touch had diminished. Her ability to withstand just about anything had disappeared. She had no patience, no endurance; she felt weak and afraid. She felt like stranger to herself.

"It's going to take at least twelve hours for that to kick in," he said.

Twelve hours. It was an eternity.

He propped his chin on the curve of his cane and stared across the room. He told her about Chase betting Foreman he couldn't make it through a differential without anything getting to him. Foreman was a fake, pretending to be calm and collected, grounded in logic and reason, but inside he was an insecure, confused, hypersensitive wreck.

Cuddy released the breath she'd been holding. There was something to be said for his guarded and aloof manner. Whatever his personal struggles at the moment, House was business as usual, which meant mocking, sarcasm and complete irreverence trumped any acknowledgement of her pain. She felt a sense of relief as the pretense of strength and courage dissipated around her.

House seemed amused by Thirteen, who continued to maintain her stance on misery and hope being genetically programmed. He explained her behavior and repeated much of what she said, with side notes of course. Apparently she remained convinced people tried to pretend and act as if they were different, but in the end they couldn't escape their programming. People always returned to their default.

Cuddy found herself considering the idea, becoming interested in the topic above her own discomfort.

"Oh, and I solved the case," House said. "It was a teratoma. They're cutting it out as we speak. That and what's left of the cancer, of course. He'll be fine."

He shifted his head to look at her. "Except that he's an idiot."

Cuddy frowned at him in question. Everyone was an idiot in his book; the question was what made this patient one.

"He won the lottery and he's on the road to complete recovery, and yet all he could do was feel miserable because the woman he loved was a fraud."

House moved his cane from between his legs and hung it on the edge of the cabinet hear the bed. "Except the woman was not the woman he loved. She was a fraud all along; pretending to be the woman he'd been looking for. He just discovered the fraud was a fraud. Big difference."

Cuddy felt the tears break from her eyes. _A fraud. _

House pulled in closer to the bed, resting his hand on the rail as he looked closely at her.

She shook her head and sniffled, turning her head away from him. Thirteen may have a point. Who you really are comes out in a crisis, when you're too weak or afraid to pretend.

"What's your pain level?"

She didn't answer.

He was studying her, his head tilting to one side as he watched her. Cuddy felt the weight of his stare.

"Hey," he softly said, quietly urging her to look at him. His voice was compelling: gentle and steady, slightly husky and raw with emotion. But his eyes were piercing: an x-ray, probing and exposing.

"You feel like a fraud," he said.

Cuddy flinched.

She felt her face contort beneath the truth of his words, overwhelmed as yet another emotional blow landed on her. He could be so damned discerning when he wanted to be.

"You're hurting. All you feel is pain," he said. His tone was direct as he continued the differential on her soul. "You don't feel like yourself. You don't even recognize yourself. You just hurt. And you're afraid that's all you'll ever feel."

Her eyes met his, and she felt herself sink into the deep pools of blue understanding. Those tormented eyes that left her weak and made her strong had a way seeing truth and reflecting it back. The emotion in their depths belied the monotone of his words.

"You'd be willing to do just about anything to stop the pain," he said. "You'd rip out your spine, replace body parts, even cut off nerves in your brain if it would free you. And that terrifies you. Because then, who would you be?"

His eyes suddenly glazed over, and he looked down at her hand. "You wonder who you are without your body. Who are you if your body betrays you and doesn't work anymore?"

Cuddy swallowed the tears, feeling the wall of pretense cracking within her. He understood. More importantly, for the first time she completely understood.

"You don't know who you are without your body, so you fight. But the pain means you can't think. And who are you if you don't have your mind?"

House looked away, appearing to look at something out the window across the room. But she knew he was staring into an abyss, a black hole that was too close for comfort. He was sitting next to her, and yet seemed so far away as he continued. "You feel good about your accomplishments, but what if you can't accomplish anything anymore? You feel confident in your abilities, but what if you're suddenly handicap and unable to do what you know? You feel secure in your looks, but what happens when you're scarred and broken?"

Cuddy began to cry. Really cry.

"I can't do this, House," she gulped. "I can't live like this."

House flinched. It was barely noticeable, and yet through her haze she felt something shift between them.

"Is this the new drama queen Cuddy," he snapped. "You going to try suicide next?"

Cuddy gasped. _What?_

"We've only just started treatment! It hasn't even had time to start working and you're already deep into a pity party."

"You think I'm on a pity party?" She stared at him, wide-eyed. She was stunned by his sudden burst of anger, betrayed by his words.

"I think your mother should have been less worried about me doing the right thing and more worried about you giving up without a fight." _Giving up?_

"You son of a bitch," she said, gritting her teeth as the pain began to surge. Only seconds earlier she'd felt he understood her pain more than anyone could, but here he was attacking her for being afraid? Of course she was afraid!

"At least I'm not a coward!" _Coward? _She was sick!

"No, you're a selfish bastard," she bit out. "You're afraid of losing your crutch! You don't give a damn that I AM HURTING."

She saw him recoil, but the spasms pulsed through her body as quickly as her rage surged. Cuddy shrieked as the pain shot through her muscles and her body convulsed. She couldn't fight him. She couldn't fight it. She couldn't breathe. It was too much.

Cuddy saw his eyes become wild with fear and panic, and she screamed.

House jumped into action, a shield of clarity and focus covering him as he pressed the call button and instructed them to bring an additional narcotic.

"Squeeze my hand," he instructed, weaving their fingers together.

Cuddy gripped his hand and tried to take deep breaths. She silently commanded her body to relax, to allow the surge to wash over her. She told herself not to ride it, not to stay with it. Release it.

He'd been fighting pain for years; she'd only been fighting for hours. He'd come to see her as some kind of angel of strength, his savior in a way. That was a lie.

"I'm sorry," she cried_. I'm not strong enough._ "I'm so sorry."

"Shhhh." She heard him try to quiet her.

He was fighting his own physical and emotional demons, always condemning himself, assuming he wasn't good enough. He lived with delusions on inadequacy. She'd been living with delusions of grandeur.

"Don't do it, Cuddy," he said. She recognized a tinge of desperation beneath the suddenly calm instruction in his voice. "It's the pain talking. Don't listen to it. Focus on the truth."

How could he know what she was thinking?

_It's the pain talking_. The pain. He knew. It was crippling.

"I can't," she cried.

"You can," he argued. She felt his hand hold hers tighter. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted to be wrapped in his arms, in their little cocoon that seemed to surround them, protect them. She felt safe in his arms, secure. He found hope in hers.

_He'll lose hope. _Her heart broke. She was losing herself and she was sure to lose him_. _He was going to give up. He deserved better. He needed better. He needed her to be strong. She needed to be strong. She needed to hold him.

"It hurts," she said. "I can't hold you; I can't be in your arms." She felt like she was drowning, sinking into a frenzied depression.

"I know," he said. "It's okay. I'm here."

His voice was soothing.

"Dr. House," she heard the timid voice, but couldn't open her eyes.

She heard the muffled voices, but couldn't process their words.

_He needs me to fight_. He was right. She'd only been fighting a day and she was breaking. She was a fraud. He was a fraud. He wasn't weak at all. He was strong, and a fighter.

"This is Dilaudid," she heard him say, but her tortured thoughts kept her distracted.

House embraced truth because it made sense. It wasn't pretty; it didn't always make you feel good about life or about yourself, but it was real. It was hard to know what was real when all you felt was pain. It was hard to be real when you felt like you were becoming pain.

"Cuddy, look at me," he said.

She whimpered. _I'm so sorry, House._

"Cuddy."

She felt so broken. She wanted to be strong, to fight the pain and the infection, to hide behind the masquerade of confidence she'd come to know. But it hurt. Her whole body was hurting.

She felt his lips on her knuckles, the brush of his beard on her wrist.

She opened her eyes and they instantly locked with his.

Blue steel. Trust. Fear. Safety. Love.

"I know you're scared, Cuddy, but it's just pain," he said. "It's just pain. It only has power when you give up. It can devour. It will try to devour you. Don't let it."

He choked on those final words. His eyes were filled with unshed tears.

_Oh, House!_ How much was this taking out of him?

"I'm trying," she said, wanting to reassure him, needing to reassure herself.

The pain was easing slightly. Not so much a ten, but certainly more than anyone should endure.

"Your body should be fighting the infection," he said. "It can't do that when all your resources are going to fighting this much pain."

She knew that, but the pain meds weren't working enough. He'd said her inflammation markers were off the charts. It could be the infection, but it could be something more. Something they weren't seeing.

"What do you want to do?" She asked.

"Call Anesthesiology," he said. "We should think about putting you under for a while. Monitored care sedation so you can rest, so you're body has time to heal and the inflammation go down."

It made sense. It's what he'd wanted to do when his pain had been so excruciating. It's what he'd asked for…

Cuddy swallowed hard.

Seeing her like this, must bring up more than his own pain, or the fear of losing her, but memories.

"House," she said.

"It's not the same thing," he interrupted. His chin dropped, and his eyes seemed to shift from one part of her body to another, but she could see he was remembering.

Cuddy cringed at the thought of what he went through, and quivered at the residual spasms around her spine.

"You gave options," he explained, shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalance she found amazing given her current understanding and experience. "You did what a doctor is supposed to do. Give all the options. It wasn't your place to decide what was right."

"I knew what you wanted," she said. She'd carried the guilt.

"But you were bound to follow the wishes of my proxy," he contended. "I chose Stacy as my power of attorney. I trusted her to do what I wanted. I trusted you to be a doctor. Once I was under, you had to do what Stacy requested."

"I could have gone against her," she said.

"Yes, because you're all for rebellion and breaking rules," he quipped. "Besides, you would have been removed from the case. A power of attorney is there for a reason."

"I'm not sure it is as cut and dry as that."

"It never is," he said.

"You would have fought it."

"Would I?" he asked. "It doesn't matter really. You're not me."

His eyes didn't waver. She could see the truth and resolve in his expression. He didn't blame her. He never had. She knew that. And as guilty as she was at times, she couldn't blame herself.

"This is not the same thing," he repeated. "We're not dealing with an infarction and dead muscle that could kill you. You have an infection. This pain will go away as the inflammation goes down. Your body will heal."

"You're sure?"

"There's no reason to think otherwise."

Nothing was certain, and right now, she couldn't think clearly. Her thoughts and feelings were all over the place. But there was no reason to doubt him.

Cuddy agreed to his plan to put her to sleep. It was the right thing to do. As she waited for him to make arrangements, she thought about their history, their relationship. They possessed a stability that didn't make sense to the outside world. As a couple, they didn't make sense. Apart they made even less sense.

She did trust him. He would take care of her, whatever it cost him. Her mother was wrong. He may battle with the decisions. He would certainly fight to keep her alive. But he wouldn't be trapped by fears and delusions, or hope and faith. He never just saw things as black and white, as right or wrong. House felt more comfortable in the grey areas than anyone she'd ever met. The grey wasn't defined by morals or ethics, but by truth. House understood that. He saw things in truth and lies. And he would always choose truth, even if it hurt him.

"This will be hard for you," she said, as he took her hand.

"This isn't about me," he said. "It's about you. When you wake up, the spotlight is back on me. I'm selfish that way."

Cuddy gave him a small grin. It was hard to smile. He wasn't going under. It wouldn't be so easy for him to avoid the pain, or the pressure...or the temptation.

"Whatever happens," she said, needing him to know she wasn't going to run and hide. "We'll deal with it."

"You know that long lost love my patient was looking for?" House asked, seemingly out of nowhere. "She showed up today."

"Really?"

"It could end."

"Or it could last."

"Thirteen thinks it doesn't matter," he said. "He'll always find a reason to hope, and as long as he has hope, he's happy."

"What do you think?"

"She's desperate to find a reason to be happy because her life sucks."

House showed her the syringe.

"Ready?"

She nodded. The pain had only dulled to an eight and was already increasing. The standard medications just were keeping the pain under control. They didn't need to wait any longer to do this.

House injected the medication.

"You're not a fraud, Cuddy," House said. "And you're not a coward."

Her eyes softened. They were both a wreck. But she was going to sleep. She couldn't help but worry what he would do.

"You're a pain in the ass."

"I know," he smiled down at her.

She felt drowsy, felt a darkness ascending on her.

House leaned over, careful not to jar the bed or place any pressure on her body. His lips lightly touched hers and she savored the moment. He kissed her again, lingering this time and she felt herself slipping further into the black.

The last thing she heard was his whisper: "You're a real bitch for taking all the good drugs, you know?"


	23. Chapter 23

_Thank you for your reviews! You are all precious. _

_Here's something a little lighter after the pain of the last chapter. It's bit of a filler and yet necessary. Hope you enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I'm not connected to the show, or there would have been much more explored with this beautiful couple._

The ceiling tile was stained.

It was the first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes, followed by the hollow feeling in her stomach, the heavy ache in her legs and the light snoring coming from beside the bed.

Cuddy turned her head to look at House. He was slumped in the chair, legs stretched in front while his arms hung loose over the arm rests. His head hung to the side, his mouth open. Even the beard that was much too thick at the moment couldn't hide the childlike quality of his sleeping form. She always loved to watch him sleep, much to his dismay.

She smiled when he jumped, startled from his sleep. He looked around, disoriented and confused, but appeared to suddenly remember where he was as his eyes jerked around to meet hers.

"Hey," she said. Her throat was dry and scratchy.

He grinned.

"You know, you'd really suck at being a drug addict," he quipped as he reached for his cane.

"It's a good thing I'm not planning to be one."

"You're lazy," he accused, coming toward her.

"And by lazy you mean I'm not meeting your expectations." Cuddy gestured to the table. "Could I get some water?"

"You can have anything you want," he answered, reaching for the pitcher. "Especially if it involves foreplay."

"Only two minutes awake," she teased. "This is a record."

Cuddy sipped on the straw; he watched her lips and gave her an exaggerated leer.

"This infection is cutting into my action."

"What a burden!"

His eyes instantly clouded. "Are you in pain?"

She smiled. "No."

His deep sigh was audible as he looked her over, checking her blood pressure, pupils, temperature and reflexes. He was going overboard with the exam, but she allowed it. She enjoyed his care of her.

"The inflammation was completely down in eighteen hours," he said. "You've been sleeping for almost two days since we stopped the anesthesia."

"How many tests did you run to explain this waking delay?" She frowned.

"I wouldn't run unnecessary tests!"

She stared blankly at him.

He shrugged. "It was just a few blood tests," he said, and took the pitcher from her. "And your plasma IS all that, in case you were wondering." He took a swallow of water.

"You shouldn't be drinking after me."

"I know! Protocol, pffft," he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "The administrator's going to have my ass."

Cuddy grinned at his sarcasm, but her eyes narrowed as she closely watched him. House paused, staring back at her.

"What?"

"You took something," she answered.

His lips parted slightly, his eyes widened and shifted nervously.

"It's not what you think," he said.

"It's okay," she stopped him. "I understand."

And she did. It wasn't easy on him. She knew that.

"No, you don't understand," House said.

He looked anxious, maybe even afraid. Cuddy hated he felt that way. It was her fault. She'd placed so many expectations on him in the past, especially the last time she was in the hospital. It wasn't fair.

"I called Nolan," he said.

To say she was shocked was an understatement. As far as she knew, he hadn't spoken to Nolan since he'd called him a faith healer and stormed out of his office.

"I figured he'd talk me down," he shrugged, averting his eyes.

She frowned at his discomfort. He couldn't be ashamed, she thought. Needing support was not a sign of weakness.

"He came here to the hospital," he said. "He dropped everything and came."

She smiled softly. Although she'd never met Nolan, she sensed he had a more interesting relationship with House than one of simply a doctor-patient. There was obviously a great deal of trust, in spite of the way his therapy had ended.

"We talked," he said. "We decided it would be better for me just to take something to calm the anxiety rather than…you know."

He began to tap his cane on the floor, avoiding her eyes.

"Ativan?" She asked.

He nodded. "I don't have a prescription," he quickly assured her. "Foreman's administering it as required."

"Not Wilson?" She was surprised at the choice.

"Wilson needs to be my friend, not my warden," he explained in a mocking tone.

Clearly this was something Nolan had suggested, and he had begrudgingly agreed. It was a smart move, actually: enlarging his support system, providing some structure. And as much as House denied it, he trusted Foreman.

"Yes, he does," Cuddy said, and held out her hand to him.

He stared at her hand, appearing slightly puzzled at the gesture, before taking it in his.

"Cuddy," he sighed.

"It's good, House," she interrupted. "Really."

Would there ever be a time his blue eyes didn't melt her?

"I'm glad you called him," she said. "I'm glad you're not alone."

He shifted his weight awkwardly, uncomfortable with either the situation or her understanding of it.

"So, the blood tests were normal?" she quickly changed the subject.

"Not bad," he said. "There are a couple of borderline issues, besides the infection. And you need eat."

"I'd love to eat," she said.

"You're hungry?"

"Starving."

"I'll have Wilson pick something up," he said. "Hospital food sucks."

House called Wilson and placed an order just as Nurse Janice came in to replace her IV bag.

"Glad to see you're awake, Dr. Cuddy," she said.

"It's good to be awake."

Cuddy noticed Janice eyeing House. It wasn't with the usual shocked and appalled expression she was accustomed to seeing, but more admiring and respectful.

"Something I should know?" Cuddy asked.

Janice chuckled. "He's been amazing," she answered honestly. "He's a jerk, a bully, and impossible to work with, but the way he's been with you, the way he looks at you…" She leaned toward Cuddy and whispered conspiratorially. "Let's just say we're all starting to understand what you see in him."

"I'd love to hear more details," she grinned.

"I have a feeling you'll be hearing a lot," she chuckled. "You two are the hot topic for hospital gossip."

Cuddy laughed. "What's new?"

"Not another lesbian," House bellowed.

Both women stared at him, startled.

"Is there some unwritten guideline in Human Resources to only hire nurses who'd like to saplap the Dean of Medicine?"

"House!" Cuddy yelled at him, appalled and disgusted.

Janice blushed and rushed out of the room.

"That was unnecessary," she reprimanded.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew how often they checked what's underneath your gown," he said. "I stopped them from releasing the video, by the way."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Such a saint."

"The lighting wasn't good," he explained.

She shook her head. She didn't know whether to kiss him or hit him.

"Come over here and help me," she said. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"You're going to check yourself out?" He teased. "Make sure they didn't leave their lipstick on you."

"I'd be more likely to find stubble burn."

"Probably," he agreed. "Electrolysis doesn't seem to be working on Nurse Jackie – our own bearded woman. We could sell tickets for that freak show and purchase a new MRI."

Cuddy paused at the edge of the bed, her feet barely touching the floor. "You broke the MRI?" She asked. "Again?"

"We'll talk about it later," he shrugged and moved the IV pole to a more convenient position as he helped her stand.

She shook her head, wishing she could believe he was teasing.

Her legs were weak, like noodles. The days of inflammation, medication, pain and bed rest had taken its toll on her body.

"We'll call PT and schedule the reconditioning," House said, reading her mind.

Cuddy frowned. The pain may have subsided, but she was still feeling like a stranger in her own body. It was overwhelming to think of the journey ahead of her: the months of antibiotics, the fight to restore her physical strength, the challenge to balance her therapy and treatment with an already hectic lifestyle.

"I'll do the therapy with you," House whispered close to her ear. "We'll work-out together."

She grinned at his offer, appreciating his support and understanding more than he probably realized. "For how long?"

"Until you're well."

"You mean until I feel better," she asked. "Or when I'm officially declared healthy again?"

He looked down at her, searching her eyes for some answer to a question he hadn't asked.

"Until Infectious Disease releases you," he clarified.

Cuddy smiled, leaning on him as they walked to the bathroom. She didn't know who was limping more, him or her. Several times she thought they'd both fall, but he managed to steady them, using the IV pole as a crutch.

House waited outside the door, so when she called him he immediately came to help her.

"Fresh gown and towels," he said, lifting the stack of fabric in his hand. "Thought you'd like to wash-up."

"You saying I stink?" She grinned.

"Sponge bath fantasy," he answered simply.

"And all this time I thought it was you receiving the bath."

"Fantasy adaptation is the key to successful relationships."

Cuddy laughed. It was amazing how he could make things feel more bearable, even normal, with such a ridiculous conversations. He was so outlandish it gave everything else perspective.

As she braced herself against the sink, House stood behind her, releasing the ties on the back of the gown and disconnecting the snaps at the shoulders to let it drop to the floor.

She had already turned on the warm water and placed the rag under the stream, when his arms slipped around her, holding her tight against him. His lips kissed her neck just beneath her ear, and a shiver ran down her spine.

"I was afraid we'd lose this," she whispered.

"Over my erect body!"

Cuddy looked at him in the small mirror, catching his eyes. "The pain was so unbearable," she said. "I couldn't think of anything else."

His eyes lost the lustful glimmer, becoming serious and sad.

"It's over now," he said.

"For me." It wasn't for him. It never was for him.

"My pain is managed," he said.

"Managed, not gone."

He slowly slid his hands up her abdomen and cupped her breasts. "There are times I don't feel it," he said, trying to divert her attention.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder and watched him in the mirror. He wasn't looking at her breasts, or watching his fingers as the moved along her nipples. He was looking at her eyes, her lips, examining her expression.

"Do you think your scar and limp make you less attractive?" she suddenly asked.

His hands froze, and his chin dropped as he frowned at her.

"You were right," she quickly explained. "I was willing to do anything to stop the pain. And, I was questioning what'd I'd be without my body, or looks."

He closed his eyes. She would have thought he was shutting her out if it hadn't been for the subtle movement of his fingers and the increased pressure of his body against her.

"There are any number of beautiful women I could pay to have sex with," he said, moving his hands along her body.

Cuddy tensed. That wasn't exactly comforting.

"There must be something more to you," he continued. "Something beyond your soft hair or your incredible eyes." His hand brushed her hair away from her temple and behind her ear.

"Something beyond these luscious lips, the line of your neck, or the way your clavicle cries out to be kissed." The tips of his fingers lightly touched her lower lip, ran down her chin and neck, and along the bone at her shoulder.

"Something more than perfect breasts, an ass to drive into, and legs you want locked around you." His hand held one of her breasts as the other cupped her mound. His eyes held hers captive.

"You're so sexy." His voice was husky, his neck flushed, his eyes intense. "But that's not what's held me captive all these years. It's not what makes me wish I…"

He looked away and she noticed the way he bit the interior of his lower lip. She knew that look. He was feeling exposed, vulnerable, insecure. It was always so hard for him to talk about his feelings.

She felt comforted, reassured, and empowered. Was this how he'd felt when she'd kissed his scar that first night? This feeling of complete love and acceptance was stronger than exhaustion, stronger than illness.

"You are everything I want," she said. "You are everything I need."

"You deserve better."

She grinned and shook her head. "So do you."

"House!" Wilson called as a knock pounded on the door. "You in there?"

"Leave the food and get the Hell out!" House yelled.

Cuddy laughed. She didn't know who broke the mood more, Wilson or House.

"Go!" she said. "Help me over to the shower stool and I'll bathe myself. You go deal with Wilson."

His scowl said he hated the idea.

"Go, House!" She laughed, and pushed at him.

"Okay," he sighed and helped her to the stool. "Call out when you're ready to get back in bed."

She reached up and caressed his cheek. "I will."

He kissed her. His lips were gentle and demanding, possessive, yet yielding. When he pulled back, she caught his eyes.

"Even with an infectious disease, you are the hottest woman I know," he said, and tweaked her breast before slipping out the door.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

Wilson had lunch with them. They didn't talk about the infection or her test results. They didn't talk about Nolan or what had happened with House while she'd been under. They didn't talk about Wilson's fears. Instead, they passed hospital gossip, told patient stories, and reminisced about old times. The three friends existed in a bubble away from all the problems and stress. They simply enjoyed each other's company.

By the time Wilson left, it was time for her next dose of Vancomycin. House connected the IV bag and programmed the unit to administer over the standard 30 minutes.

"Bend your leg," he said, as he lifted her foot and propped it on his thigh. He was sitting on the bed, opening a bottle of lotion.

Cuddy was mesmerized. His fingers massaged the soles of her feet and up her calf as he regaled her with stories of what Rachel had been doing over the past few days. Apparently he'd been talking with her via Skype, as much as you could talk with a toddler. Julia was not thrilled with the little girl's obsession with pirates. Neither was she, but Cuddy couldn't deny she was pleased that House had bonded with the child, and there was something endearing about the way he spoke with a pirate drawl.

"You can read her the story tonight," he said. "If I have to read 'Are You My Mother' one more time, I might start squawking like a bird myself. Then I'd be like your mom and Julia…the Angry Birds."

Cuddy laughed at him then said "I want to see her."

"I know," he said. "We can't chance it until your cultures come back clean. You know that."

"I know," she sighed. The separation couldn't be easy on her daughter. She must be very afraid.

"I'll bring my laptop in and you can Skype with her," he suggested and picked up the phone to call Julia.

Cuddy listened as he scheduled a time with her sister for the Skype session. She was surprised at how he was interacting with her family. He was still sarcastic and biting, but there was also a camaraderie that was evident, brought on by a common goal.

House handed her the phone and he moved to the other side of the bed. As she talked to her sister, he massaged lotion into her other foot. Her feet began to tingle and her legs felt the prickling of muscles coming alive after a long sleep.

She had just hung up the phone when his hands ran up her leg, over her knee to her thigh.

"Don't even think about it," she warned.

He squinted at her.

"You'll be crying out for my touch soon enough," he said.

She looked around to ensure the blinds were closed and no one was at the door before spreading her legs and flashing him.

His nostrils flared as he gulped in air.

She chuckled and covered herself again.

It was hard to believe that she could feel so happy and whole after what she'd been through, what she was still going through.

"I could give you a workout, you know," House growled. "And make your whole body come alive."

She didn't have a chance to respond before the door opened behind him.

"Hello, Dr. Cuddy," Leigh said and turned to acknowledge House. She was one of the young rising stars from the Physical Therapy department. "I'm here to do some exercises with you."

House moved to the chair as they talked. Leigh went through a basic evaluation, asking her about feelings and sensations in her body, discussing her medical history and the plan for rehabilitation. It only took three days of bed rest for the physical body to start deconditioning, showing signs of weakness and the start of atrophy. Inflammation and certain medications only escalated the process. It was important for her to begin working on the primary muscles immediately.

When Cuddy sat at the side of the bed, House sat up and moved to the edge of his chair. His movements were so dramatic, he almost looked like a mime.

"We're going to start with a few leg lifts," Leigh said, and explained the proper positioning and technique.

Cuddy followed the instructions and smiled at House as he lifted his left leg. He was really going to do therapy with her. He was going to mock it, make a joke out of every exercise, and possibly complain as they moved forward. But he was going to do it. He was going to keep his word. They really were in this together.

She almost laughed when Leigh turned to look at House in surprise.

"Don't worry about me. I don't need instructions," he said to her. "I've been marking my territory for years."


	24. Chapter 24

_Thank you so much for reading this story and for commenting. Seriously, you guys are such a motivation. _

_A special thanks goes out to Aya and Meg; to Veronique, who is more than an instigator, but an inspiration; And to Maya, who has impeccable timing and is a very dear friend. ;-) _

_Disclaimer: Connected with Shore? Really? Absolutely NOT!_

It was finally quiet.

Cuddy brushed her fingers along Rachel's cheek relieved she'd finally gotten her to go sleep. Ever since she had gotten home from the hospital, her daughter had been going a mile a minute. She hadn't wanted to leave her mother's side, had wanted to tell her everything, show her everything, do everything. Cuddy had been so happy to be home, happy to be with her daughter, she'd been equally enthusiastic. But it was exhausting. Not the normal exhaustion of a mother chasing her toddler, but a debilitating, aching exhaustion that was a little frightening.

"Come on," House said from behind her.

She jumped, startled by his presence, but then smiled as she took the cup of tea he handed her.

"There's a hot bath ready for you," he said. "And your medication."

She looked at the large pill in his hand and frowned. It was like a horse pill, and it left a terrible metallic aftertaste in her mouth. She would be taking one three times a day for the next two months. Lucky me, she thought.

"Are you pampering me?" She whispered, and took the pill.

"If I play my cards right, I'll get lucky tonight."

She let out an airy chuckle and leaned on him as he led her out of the room, closing the door behind them.

She already felt lucky: lucky to be home. Ten days in that hospital room was too much. She'd been going crazy staring at those walls, watching people put on the quarantine gowns and masks every time they came to see her. Of course, House had been breaking that protocol from day one, disregarding all reminders with an assurance he was already exposed, so it didn't matter. They reminded him the procedures were not just to protect him, but other patients and hospital personnel. He'd remark on the power antibacterial gels and tell them drown in it. As administrator of the hospital, she saw his behavior as careless and intolerable, requiring disciplinary action. As his girlfriend, she was pleased he needed to touch her and didn't want anything between them, even if it was infection control protection.

"It's good to be home," she said as they entered the bathroom.

"It's good you have a House," he said. "See what I did there?"

She smiled as he took the tea from her hand and placed it on the vanity. As he helped her remove her t-shirt and yoga pants, she worried over the weakness that was still so prevalent in her body. It didn't take much for her to lose all energy. After a day like today, she felt the tiredness deep in her bones. She could only hope the bath would rejuvenate her, provide at least a burst of strength to get her through.

"You going to join me?" she asked, stepping into the tub and slipping into the water. She avoided his eyes.

"No," he said. She could feel him watching her, looking over her body with open interest.

"You're just going to stand there and stare?"

"You know, boys invest every penny of their allowance on magazine and internet subscriptions hoping to see nipples floating on the water like that."

Her grin was half-hearted as she shook her head. "You're not a boy."

"Thank God!" He headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Got some things to do," he said over his shoulder as he left. "And you need to prepare for entering the king's chamber."

"Meaning MY chamber," she called.

He poked his head back in the door. "Kinky!"

She laughed as he winked and disappeared again.

Cuddy sank low into the tub, willing the warm water to ease her tense, tired muscles. She began to breathe deep, concentrating on deep inhales and slow exhales. She'd been holding her breath since she'd left the hospital, mentally fortifying her strength, determined not to show weakness or any fear. Pretending had become second nature, and it only left her more exhausted.

_How am I ever going to get my strength back? _

She was doing physical therapy every day, and tried to do additional exercises as often as she could, but it didn't feel like she was getting anywhere. Her body didn't even feel familiar; it had become an unknown entity, a vessel of symptoms and side effects. At times she felt she was now defined by her condition, by blood cells counts and test results. Her thoughts were often centered on the infection and what it was doing to her: evaluating symptoms and predicting side effects of the medicine. She was losing herself as quickly as she'd lost her health.

She tried to remain motivated, but the weakness was overwhelming. It was amazing how quickly muscles degenerated and how slow they recovered. As a doctor, she knew all of the chemical and biological reasons surrounding the issue, but experiencing it was creating a much greater level of understanding. It was discouraging and disheartening at best.

The only thing worse was the fear. She felt like a coward so overtaken with fears at every turn. She was afraid the pain would return. Every time she put weight on her legs, or worked with resistance on her limbs, every time any muscle contracted in her body, she'd feel the sense of panic deep within. She was afraid she wouldn't have the endurance to regain her level of strength and mobility, afraid she wouldn't be able to fight the physical and emotional demons whittling away at the woman she once knew. She was afraid she'd lose herself and never feel alive again. To make matters worse, she was afraid people would see her fears and would know she was a fraud. She wasn't the strong, independent woman they believed her to be.

She'd always been so proud of her accomplishments, so willing to sacrifice relationships and more personal goals in her quest for position and respect. She'd used her power and prestige, and yes, even her looks, to the fullest advantage in achieving her goals. And yet the ones that mattered most slipped through her fingers.

It had been so important to make her father proud, to have her mother like her. She'd failed at both. Her mother appreciated her skills and abilities, but couldn't stand to be with her. She never made it through a visit without her pointing out Cuddy's faults. Her father had died admiring her position as Dean of Medicine, but ashamed of her as a woman after discovering she'd slept with his best friend. He'd never even let her explain.

She'd waited so long to have a child only to discover she was barren. Now her body was betraying her again. She'd played games and lied to herself for years; it had almost cost her the chance to know real love, and passion, to know the perfection that went beyond what looked good on paper to what felt right in her heart. She was terrified of losing what she'd finally found with House, of breaking what they'd built. She was afraid if it fell apart, it would be her fault.

House had been great. He'd continued to do physical therapy with her, keeping her laughing and motivated, and shocking Leigh with comments that left her wide eyed and nervous. Poor girl. It was hard enough to have the Dean of Medicine as a patient, but she was also dealing with the hospital rebel. There had been times Cuddy wanted to protect her, to shield her from the insanity that was House, until one day she'd seen the awe in the girl's eyes, the light blush in her cheeks. After that, she didn't bother.

_House._ He'd done everything wrong that she expected, and more right than she'd hoped. It was a dream come true, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling the awakening was going to be painful. She didn't want to anticipate the worst, but it was hard not to. They were each a roller coaster on their own; together they were a runaway train. And now she was sick and barely treading the emotional waters toward recovery.

She felt a chill run through her that signaled it was time to get out of the tub. Cuddy opened her eyes and reached to pull the plug from the drain. That was when she spotted House sitting on the lid of the toilet watching her.

"How long have you been there?"

"How long have you been worried about us?"

She braced her hands on the edge of the tub and started to stand. He quickly came to help steady her.

"I'm not worried about us," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"The amused and aroused smile you were wearing says you were thinking of me," he said. "Or Idris Elba." He slid the towel along her body to dry her. "The frown across your forehead says you are anticipating my next failure, or questioning Wilson's wisdom in serving White Castles at the next board meeting."

He tied the towel around her and held her hand as she stepped out of the tub.

"And the fact you haven't been able to look me in the eye most of the day tells me I've done something very wrong." He frowned and tilted his head as he considered another option. "Or you're keeping something from me. Something you don't want me to know. Something you don't think I can handle."

Cuddy fiercely shook her head. "That's not it," she said, her eyes meeting his. "It's not."

Her hands cupped his jaw and pulled him down for a kiss. Her mouth moved lightly on his lips, gently caressing as her tongue tentatively slipped into his mouth. She explored his mouth. It had been so long since they'd kissed, really kissed, unabashedly, uncensored and uninterrupted.

House moaned and she felt his desire for her. He wouldn't pursue the interrogation.

"Come on," he said, pulling back and taking her hand. "Let's get you in bed."

The bedroom was set-up for seduction. The sheets were turned down and candles were lit throughout the room. He had even placed a bottle of sparkling grape juice and two wine glasses on the bedside table.

He must have noticed when she quirked her brow.

"We wouldn't want any medicine interactions," he explained.

House grinned as he pulled her into his arms; his eyes sparkled with excitement and desire. His lips ran along the line of her neck beneath her ear, grazing the sensitive skin and lightly sucking on the pulse he found. It had always been an erogenous zone for her and he was skilled at using it to his full advantage.

Cuddy felt the towel pulled from her body just before his hands cupped her breast, seeking and finding her nipple. She was aware of his every touch, and the thought of being with him again left her yearning and desperate.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and he lifted her, laying her across the bed as he came to rest at her side. His hands continued to caress and explore; she closed her eyes and focused on his fingers, on his mouth, on his tongue. He was attentive and thorough, and ….

She felt nothing. Well, that wasn't true. She felt tired. She felt miserable. She felt…like an outsider.

She wanted to make love with him, to feel him buried deep within her. She missed that feeling. She did. At least her heart did. Her body was a completely different story. As she became fully aware of exactly how foreign her body had become to her, she felt the familiar grip of fear clenching her gut.

House slid his hand between her thighs and opened her with his probing fingers. She held her breath, stealing herself for discomfort.

Cuddy grimaced and he froze.

She was dry, far from aroused. She wanted to cry. They'd always been able to depend on sex, and now that was being taken away, too.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as he looked at her.

"Sorry?" he asked, confused.

Her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. She'd been an emotional wreck for days, why would she expect now to be any different? As much as her brain told her this was a completely normal reaction given her health and the medication she was taking, she still felt embarrassed and ashamed and afraid.

His eyes searched hers. House looked down her body, examined it with the intensity of a doctor, not a lover. It made her feel alone.

"Are you in pain?" He asked, frowning in concern. His voice was husky with unmet desire, his body taut with tension.

"No," she rushed to assure him. "I'm not in any pain."

She tried to relax under his gaze, but she felt exposed. Her hands unconsciously gripped the sheets, which of course he immediately noticed.

His face turned ashen and he quickly pulled away to sit at the side of the bed.

"It's okay," he said nervously.

His hand began to rub his thigh and she felt anxiety roll within her. She'd just created a mine field. In her frustration and confusion, she'd given him a very wrong message. As she watched the movement of his hand, she caught a glimpse of his full erection pressing against the zipper of his jeans and became fully aware of how much effort he'd extended to pull away from her.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'm just tired. I'm really tired."

"I understand," he said, standing and turning away from her.

_Shit! He was hurt._

She reached out for his hand to stop his retreat.

"Don't," he said through clenched teeth.

"It's not you," she tried to explain. "I can't help it."

He turned to look at her with haunted, tortured eyes that cut right to her heart. "You were just going to lay there?"

"I wanted…" she swallowed and corrected herself. "I want…" How could she even explain what she was feeling? What she wanted and needed? "I don't want to lose what we have."

"What?" He looked at her shocked. "You think this is what I want? For you to fake it? To just lay there miserable while I get my rocks off?"

Now he was angry.

"House, I…"

"I can pay for someone to pretend to want me," he snapped.

Cuddy flinched. She felt the blow as if he'd actually hit her.

His mouth twitched when he saw her reaction and his fist tightened at his sides.

The tears slipped from her eyes.

House jerked her gown off the foot of the bed and tossed it to her. "Put that on," he said, and grabbed his cane. She stared wide-eyed as he headed for the door. "And get some sleep."

"House!" She called to him as he stormed out of the room, but she knew it was useless. He was hurt and angry. And he was frustrated.

_I can pay for someone to pretend to want me._

His words reverberated in her mind.

_What the Hell is wrong with me?_

She knew what was wrong with her. It was all textbook, but it felt like a nightmare. It was bad enough she didn't have control over her body, or her emotions, but now she couldn't think either? Why hadn't she just told him she was tired when he first mentioned sex? Why couldn't she just explain what she felt? What she needed? She was always demanding trust, forcing him to open up to her, share his thoughts and feelings with her, but she was hiding from him. Not only that, she was undermining their relationship.

He was with her, by her side every step of the way – at great cost – just as she'd wanted. And she was pulling away. She was drowning in fears both new and old, and in insecurities long denied. Instead of sharing them with him, she was pretending. She was going to lose him. How would she ever survive this alone, when she couldn't trust herself? When she couldn't even find herself?

Cuddy curled up in a ball and cried.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

"I made you some lunch for tomorrow," House said. She turned to look at him on the opposite side of the bed as he began to undress. "You'll just have to warm it up when you're ready to eat."

She didn't know how long he'd been gone, or how long she'd been crying. She did know she was glad he hadn't left her; she was glad he was here.

"Marina will be here to help with Rachel, and I'm sure you mother will be stopping by to remind you I'm a jackass."

Cuddy processed what he was saying. He'd been angry and hurt. He'd been betrayed. And he'd gone to cook for her.

She sat up on the side of the bed and watched him.

He'd lost weight. She couldn't help but notice. Her chest tightened as she acknowledged the stress he'd been under, the toll this was taking on him. In that moment, she desperately needed to hold him.

"Don't put those on," she said, as he picked up his pajama bottoms.

He looked up at her, surprised.

"I want you naked," she said softly.

"No you don't," he said, a scowl creeping along his brow.

Cuddy frowned. This wasn't going to be easy.

"I do," she stated it firmly.

"Don't pretend, Cuddy. There's no need."

He wasn't angry, but matter of fact, and yet she still jerked a little at his words.

"I'm not pretending."

She had been. She'd been pretending she could do this alone. That she was strong enough and brave enough and smart enough…

"Damn it, Cuddy! You think I don't know you feel like shit?" he said. "I should have known you weren't up for it. And you should have told me."

Cuddy tensed as a mix of emotions rushed over her. He looked up at the ceiling as he released a deep sigh.

"You don't have to act like you want me," he said.

"I do want you."

He stared at her blankly.

"I always want you, House," she finally said.

His eyes glazed over and his expression froze. He was processing something. But then his shoulders slumped, his chin dropped and he shook his head in frustration. For the first time Cuddy was afraid of one of his epiphanies.

"I'm just tired. I'm really tired," she reiterated.

"And being naked helps you rest?" His sarcasm came across as biting.

She bowed her head. She had to find a way to explain. "I miss you," she said.

Cuddy stared down at her clasped hands.

"I'm afraid," she said. "I'm afraid of everything. And my body…" She searched for words. "I don't know who I am. I don't know what I'm feeling or what to do. I just want to feel normal again."

She was shaking. Her hands were literally shaking. "I need to be with you."

The seconds passed. They felt like minutes. She was holding her breath.

Cuddy felt the bed sink beside her just before his arms came around her and pulled her back and up the bed with him.

"Grab the covers," he grumbled. "If we're sleeping naked, at least protect Little Greg from becoming a shriveled mass of nothing."

She exhaled, relieved and eagerly following his lead. He had a way reining in chaos through his own brand of insanity.

"As if that's possible," she said, and pulled the covers up over them.

Cuddy snuggled back into him as his arms wrapped around her. She could feel his body along her back and rear, his legs entwined with hers. Her head nestled on his should and she smiled as his fingers automatically began to caress her arm. She breathed him in, seeking that feeling of home, the safety she felt in him.

"You're an idiot," he said.

She froze. Jarred by his sudden outburst, and yet sensing he was about to share something important.

"Do you want to know when I've found you most irresistible?"

Cuddy swallowed, bracing herself against the jaws of fear she felt at his words. She was surprised to discover she actually didn't want to know, she didn't want to hear when he wanted her most.

"When you stood there broken and yet so ready to fight when the adoption fell through."

Cuddy turned her head to look at him, shocked and dismayed.

"When you were furious and fired me," he said. "You were disgusted enough to shut me out for good. But you dropped it all - forgot everything I'd just done – and just hurt with me when you realized I was hallucinating. Like when you held my hand and stayed with me after Amber died."

His eyes were filling with water and Cuddy could hardly breathe.

"When you stood there in my bathroom and told me you love me, knowing that I was about to take vicodin," he said, and a tear escaped his eye. "And that I'd never deserve you."

She didn't know what to say. She felt the fear dissipating, the crushing walls slide away. A weight was being lifted and she was not only breathing, but feeling steady, perhaps even stronger. So many years of flirting and innuendoes, of sexual attraction and lust, and it wasn't even what he carried with him.

House rolled over on his side to face her, naturally guiding her body to do the same.

"You're sick and tired, you don't recognize your body and you're afraid," he said. His fingers brushed her hair away from her temple. "None of that matters. I've never wanted to be with you more."

He looked so tender and shy. And those puppy dog eyes!

She kissed him lightly and curled into him, wrapping her arms around him to hold him tight.

"This doesn't mean I'm going to stop commenting on your ass."

Cuddy laughed.

"Just because my body is a nightmare, doesn't mean I can't take care of you," she offered.

"Go to sleep, Cuddy."

He stretched and turned off the bedside lamp.

"I could…"

He rolled her over on her other side and spooned her.

"Goodnight!"

His fingers ran along her arms, tracing an invisible pattern. It felt right.

"Goodnight, House."


	25. Chapter 25

_Special thanks to the very insightful and always enthusiastic Aya._

_Disclaimer: I'm obviously not connected with Shore or show._

Cuddy woke up to the sound of water running.

House was in the shower. He must have gotten a call from his team about a new patient.

Cuddy sighed and crawled out of bed. She wanted to make him some coffee before he rushed out. She could at least do that since work had so rudely interrupted their morning.

They'd fallen into a regular schedule over the past week. They would perform her physical therapy exercises, as well as some yoga poses she'd selected to help her recovery along. They'd share a cup of coffee and mock the breaking news as it passed across the TV screen. He made breakfast as she got Rachel ready, and then he would take a shower when Marina showed up for the day. It was a comfortable routine; she was sad a new patient was going to put a wrench in the program.

He'd been so attentive to her since she'd gotten home from the hospital: preparing meals, doing chores, hovering and anticipating her every need. He was so sarcastic about it all, and was merciless in his teasing. She was grateful for his incessant wise cracks and impertinence. It provided a bit of levity to an overall upsetting situation.

She smiled as she watched the coffee brew. In the past she would have simply joined him in the shower, but since she'd been sick, their sex life had taken quite a blow. House had been pretty amazing about that too. He still teased her with innuendo and bold declarations of desire, but he had settled into a habit of just holding her and sharing kisses. He seemed to find peace in simply touching her. Frankly, he seemed to be taking the changes much better than her. She still felt lost and afraid.

Coffee in hand, Cuddy crept into the bathroom ready to surprise him.

House stood beneath the water, face tilted toward the flow, his body taut and tense, and she froze at the first glimpse of him.

His hand held a rather impressive erection, or rather pounded at it. Her eyes widened, shocked at the ferocity of his movements. She felt uncomfortable with the unintentional intrusion on such a private moment, and yet she was mesmerized, unable to turn away. She'd never really pictured a detailed image of House taking care of this need, much less imagined how he actually did it. It was more a pulse of acknowledgment or a blip of acceptance that existed in the back of her mind. It certainly didn't take up conscious thought, and yet somehow she hadn't expected this. She felt strangely disturbed by what she saw.

It wasn't a vision of a man lost in erotic thought and left in ecstasy, or even the automatic movements of a routine tension relief. No, this was intense. It was raw and dark. A sense of rage was emanating from him, and she didn't believe it was his normal approach. She didn't think he was finding pleasure or release, as much as punishing himself. He appeared brutal and savage. It was harrowing and she nervously backed away, quietly slipping out the door without notice.

She escaped to the family room where she curled up on the sofa, leaving the coffee forgotten on the side table. She felt nauseated, more shaken and disturbed by what she'd witnessed than she could have ever imagined.

In the past, she would have stepped into that shower, pushed his hand away and teased him that she'd do a better job. She'd been stronger and braver then, felt sexier and alive. She'd been fearless in so many ways before this infection had weakened her. On the other hand, in the past House wouldn't have been so…he would have…he was…

_Damn!_

He'd always been angry. Since the day she'd first met him in that bookstore so many years ago, there had been a thread of bitterness beneath his veneer. It called to her, mainly because she recognized it and certainly empathized. After the infarction, that bitterness had become barely concealed anger, but through the years it had transitioned from constant to fluctuating, as inconsistent as his level of pain.

She'd learned to measure his emotional stability by his pain levels, to monitor his pain through his ability to navigate the black hole threatening to destroy him. She'd even enjoyed a sense of pride for her skills at distracting and interceding as necessary. This time she'd missed the clues. Who was she kidding? She'd ignored them. She'd seen the signs over the past few days and had willingly turned a blind eye simply because she didn't feel up to dealing with it. She'd allowed him to deflect and accepted his words at face value. She'd wanted to believe their little bubble of normalcy was real, so she'd ignored the facts.

He was drowning. She should have known. She should have seen.

Cuddy heard his steps coming down the hall and quickly lay down on the sofa, feigning sleep.

She heard him walk in, felt his eyes on her as she forced herself to remain still and take deep, steady breaths.

"I've got a patient," he whispered close to her ear.

"Hmmm," she hummed an acknowledgment and snuggled into the pillow, pretending to be close to dosing off to sleep again.

His lips brushed her temple as she felt a blanket pulled over her. "You should go back to bed if you're still tired," he suggested.

"I'll get up in a bit," she mumbled, still avoiding his eyes. If she looked at him, he'd know something was up. He'd been hiding behind the role of supportive caregiver for weeks. She needed time to figure out how let him know his secret was out...and to figure out how she should handle it. It was better to keep up the appearance of exhaustion.

It must have been enough to satisfy him because she heard him moving around the room before he said, "I'll check in later."

When the front door closed, Cuddy sat up and pulled the pillow into her arms, hugging it to her as her stomach began to churn. She suddenly felt very sad. House wasn't the only one pretending.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

Cuddy frowned as she swung the front door open.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you too," Wilson said, easily slipping by her and through the entry.

"You just visited yesterday." She followed him into the living room.

"Which means I can't visit today?"

"Which means House sent you."

"And I always do what House wants?"

She stared at him drolly.

Wilson raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, he was worried," he said.

"I've been home for days with no problems at all," she argued. "What's there to be worried about?"

He placed his hands on his waist in an unwavering stance that came across as a conscientious objection.

"You made him coffee, but didn't bring it to him. You tensed when he touched you, and you pretended you were going back to sleep when you were really just avoiding looking at him," Wilson clicked off the cues as House had obviously dictated. "He also said you were pale this morning with dark circles around your eyes, which I have to agree with now that I see you."

"I'm recovering from MRSA!" Cuddy plopped down on the sofa, crossing her arms and glaring defiantly at him.

"That explains everything," he said. "I can go back to work and get nothing done since he'll be interrupting me all day wondering WHAT HE'S DONE WRONG!"

She wasn't sure if she wanted to pout or scream. "Why the hell wouldn't he just ask me what's wrong instead of involving you?"

Wilson stared blankly at her.

"I'm fine," she finally said, and quickly clarified. "And he didn't do anything wrong." As if the words were going to pacify either of these men!

"How bad is it?"

"How bad is what?"

Wilson sighed in frustration. "So it's not just House that's getting this B-grade performance. You're pretending with me too."

Cuddy sighed in defeat. He was right. She was pretending, had been pretending all morning as she silently imploded with the memory and implications of what she'd seen.

She should talk to Wilson. He understood House better than anyone. And he understood her. He knew their tangled history and wouldn't judge. He may even be able to offer some insights that may guide her in the direction she should be taking. Besides, House had involved him when he'd sent Wilson here, so technically she wasn't the one bringing a third party into their relationship. God, the three of them were so screwed up!

"We really should re-evaluate this whole lack-of-boundaries thing we've got going."

"I agree," he said, and sat down beside her. "But not today. Now talk."

Cuddy grinned and leaned back on the sofa, staring at nothing in front of her.

"I'm not the one you should be worrying about," she said.

"What do you mean?" Wilson frowned. "I thought House had been great. He hasn't left your side."

"He's the perfect boyfriend," she agreed.

Wilson continued to stare blankly.

"He's perfect," she repeated.

There it was! A flicker of understanding.

"He's been absolutely perfect throughout this whole ordeal," she said. "I can't complain about anything."

"Except, you are."

"I'm scared for him," she explained. "Caregiving isn't easy for a born nurturer. How much harder is it for someone like House? How much is this taking out of him?"

"Don't you think you're borrowing trouble?" He asked. "House almost lost you the last time you were sick. He learned his lesson and now he's overcompensating. It's what he does. You didn't expect balance, did you?"

"I wish that were it," she shook her head. "I wish it was over-the-top House, but it's not. This is taking a toll on him."

"I really don't think you have any reason to worry," Wilson tried to reassure her. "I talk with him every day. Foreman is monitoring his meds and keeping an eye out. And he's talking to Nolan again, not in an official capacity, but he's talking."

Cuddy brought one leg up on the couch as she turned to face him. "So you know he's drinking again?"

There was a slight shift in his brow. He didn't know. Looks like she wasn't the only one missing the clues.

"I've smelled it on his breath every night this week."

Wilson shook his head. "He's always been a drinker, Cuddy. Taking a shot at night isn't a big surprise," he said. "Besides, it could be a good thing that he's taking some time to himself."

Cuddy frowned.

"He has a large bruise on his back."

"You think it has something to do with drinking?"

She shrugged. "He said he tripped at work and hit his back on a counter."

"So maybe he did," Wilson countered.

She released a sigh of frustration. "That's not the way he works, Wilson," she said. "You know that."

After he'd been released from Mayfield, House had spent the next year working hard to recover what he'd lost, to restore his sense of self and create some kind of normalcy in his life. He'd faced so many obstacles, and even more naysayers. And, he'd done it with very little support, especially from her.

Cuddy still remembered when he'd started to get discouraged, when he'd started on that downward spiral. It had started with drinking then, too. She'd been frightened to learn the drinking may have been part of a bigger plan, an excuse to provoke violence. He'd gone out looking for someone to hurt him, and he'd found them.

"You think he's punishing himself again?" Wilson asked.

"It wouldn't be the first time he intentionally baited someone so they'd hit him," she reminded him.

"I know," he said. "But it doesn't seem like the same pattern to me."

Cuddy shook her head. He was right. It didn't seem like the same pattern, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling it was just a new façade.

"Do you know we're not having sex?"

Now Wilson sighed. "He understands, Cuddy."

So he was frustrated enough to talk to Wilson, but was hiding it from her.

"He's angry and bitter," she said.

"He's not falling off the deep end from sexual frustration," Wilson reiterated.

"Of course not," she bit back with more of an edge than intended. "I'm not being overly dramatic here. I guess after what happened between us, he has adapted and become even more adept at hiding. But I am telling you he's in crisis."

"Okay. Then what are you not telling me?"

She averted her eyes. There's no way she could explain what she saw this morning, no way to explain the raw emotion revealed in that unguarded moment.

"I'm not imagining things, Wilson," she said. "This is not just the typical exhaustion or loss of self that caregivers face. This is something dark and ugly. He's not doing well, and he's hiding it to trying to protect me."

"So talk to him; tell him to stop."

"Good talk, Wilson," she said and headed for the kitchen. "I'm sure you have patients."

There was no need to discuss it any further. She was getting frustrated and Wilson wasn't helping at all. Obviously House was putting on a masterful performance. On the surface, everything was fine, even normal. He didn't do well with normal. That knowledge should be enough reason in itself for concern.

"I'll talk to him," Wilson said from behind her. His tone was resigned and apologetic. He would be doing it for her, not because he saw the problem.

"Don't worry about it," she shrugged. "If you think there's nothing wrong, there's no reason to create an intervention. It will only cause more problems."

She turned to face him. "I'll talk to him tonight," she said. "It's not your problem."

Wilson's eyes searched hers. He could tell she was pushing him away, carefully shutting him out. A sudden look of concern and perhaps resignation became etched on his brow.

"It takes a village," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed gloomily. If it was as bad as she thought, she would need reinforcements.

"Are you okay?" Wilson suddenly asked. "You've gone pale."

"I've been a little nauseated," she said. "I'll be okay."

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

"I brought you some ginger ale," House said as he walked through the door.

Obviously Wilson had told him she'd been sick, which meant Wilson had talked with him about their conversation. As House opened the small bottle and handed it to her, he didn't look up. His neck was slightly flushed, his lips thin and taut, and his movements were abrupt as he gripped the bag holding the remaining bottles of ginger ale and walked toward the kitchen. She noticed his limp was more pronounced. This wasn't good.

"I'll make soup tonight," he called out.

Cuddy cringed. He was angry, furious even. She could feel it emanating off him, and yet here he was pretending again. They'd come so far only to fall back into these patterns of defense and deflection.

She stood up to follow him.

"You talked to Wilson," she stated the obvious.

"No, I called the Psychic Friends Network and Dionne said your head was in the toilet," he said. "I figured you were either sick or trying out a new cleanser."

"You sent him over here to check on me," she said, feeling defensive and soured by his tone.

"And like any good sidekick, he returned with the goods."

Cuddy took a deep, calming breath. "You're angry."

"What's there to be angry about?" He looked at her now. His expression was innocent, but his eyes were cold.

She leaned against the door frame to steady her as another wave of nausea threatened. That was a good question. What did he have to be angry about? She hadn't done anything wrong. And since when did he get angry that she talked to Wilson? Frustrated maybe, but not angry. This was about the rage he was breeding. Talking to Wilson only fueled it.

"Talk to me," she pleaded, wanting to get to the root of what was causing such a battle in him.

"My patient is a real piece of work," he said, as he turned away from her to peel an onion.

"Don't care about your patient."

"Masters didn't accept the fellowship I offered her."

"What?" She was shocked. Training under House would be a dream for any resident student. Granted, her idealism kept her at odds with his approach and philosophy, but Cuddy had thought Masters brought a needed balance to the team. She believed the young girl had the strength of character and beliefs to hold her own as she trained in such a challenging department. It was really quite surprising she hadn't embraced the opportunity.

"She's off to brighter lands," he said. "And away from the evil sorcerer."

Cuddy wanted to ask questions, to pursue the conversation and understand why Masters would forfeit such an incredible fellowship, but there were more important issues at stake: primarily, their relationship. She couldn't let him get away with deflection. Not this time.

No more pretending, she said to herself.

"Let's talk about her later," she said.

House was placing the chopped onion and carrots into a pot on the stove. "Okay," he said. "I've got the new intel on Taub's infidelity."

"Don't care."

"Chase is looking for a more serious relationship," he said.

Cuddy sighed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm cooking dinner," he answered in a frustratingly patronizing tone.

"We need to talk," she said.

"I thought we were."

"House!"

He slammed his fist down on the counter.

"What do you want from me?" He yelled, a burst of temper spewing from deep within him before he could censor it or tamp it down.

"I want you to stop pretending."

"I'm pretending?" He bellowed. "I think you've got that pronoun wrong."

She tried not to cringe as he pulled the bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet and poured some into a glass.

"House," she said. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" He took a large and loud swallow of the liquid, smacking his lips as it went down and then glared at her mockingly. "Oh, you mean drink?" he asked, raising the empty glass in the air. "It's medicinal."

Cuddy rubbed her temple, feeling a bit dizzy and more than a little impatient. "Fine," she said. "Let's not talk. Let's keep playing these games and completely destroy our relationship."

She'd barely turned away when she heard the glass shatter.

"Dammit!" He yelled, as she quickly turned to see what had happened. "What do you want from me?"

Cuddy saw the glass on the countertop and floor, and a small residue of liquid dripping from the cabinet facing where he'd thrown the glass. He was wild eyed and trembling, the anger erupting and flowing with molten heat. She braced herself against the wall, willing her equilibrium to return.

"I'm doing everything I know to do, and it's never enough for you!" He roared.

"That's not true," she answered. "I just want you to talk to me."

"I talk to you all of the time!"

"No, you're not," she argued. "You're talking about everything but what's really going on with you."

"Maybe that's because there's nothing going on with me," he snapped. "Did you ever think of that?"

"I think there's a lot going on with you," she said, calming her voice in an attempt to direct the conversation. "I know I'm not the only one going through this ordeal. You've been with me every step of the way, taking care of me, managing my care, handling Rachel and everything here at home. You've been amazing. I know it's not easy."

"I'm doing what anyone would do," he snarled. "It's completely normal."

_Normal. Completely normal._

He spat it out as if the very idea was was it about that word and what it represented? It didn't fit House, but it was more than that. He was always living in the extremes. It was often associated with his addictive personality, but she'd always felt it went beyond such an easy explanation. He cranked up everything - from sarcasm and mockery to brutal truth and harsh resolutions - to the nth degree. It was as if living outside the margins of acceptability placed him above the rest; it removed him from normal. It protected him.

The thought sent a shiver up her spine.

"I'm fine," he stated, clearly uncomfortable with the way she was watching him, searching him.

"You're not fine," she said. "We're not fine."

He went pale and she could see the duplicitous battle between fight and flight reflected in his eyes.

"We're in a medical crisis that is demanding a structure and stability that's a little too close to normal for you," she said. "You don't do normal. It scares you."

"I see Captain Rationalization performed some kind of mind meld during your visit," he snapped.

This wasn't about being a caregiver. This wasn't about the pressure or the strain he was under at all. It was about being normal. It was about fear, and shame, and the unknown.

"You can only do normal for so long before you start punishing yourself." She was talking to herself more than him as the answers to so many questions began to materialize in her mind. "You're embarrassed? Ashamed? You feel like you've done something wrong and you need to be punished?"

His expression had turned into a dark, stormy scowl as she spoke.

"That's it," she said, her own brand of epiphany breaking through. "You feel."

Cuddy's eyes widened as she began to understand. This was a filter he'd developed over the years, probably from his childhood, perhaps from the abuse.

"When you're in the extremes, you know the emotions, you can anticipate them and how others will respond. You're in control in a strange way. When you don't have that, you feel vulnerable…and ashamed." She caught his eye. "You want to be hurt so you can feel pain instead of humiliation."

"If you're going to counsel me, I should really consider fucking Nolan," he bit out. "Then I can make this role reversal complete."

Cuddy flinched and felt the bile rise in her throat.

"Oh God," she groaned and quickly turned, dashing toward the bathroom. This was not the time to vomit!

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

"Mommie's sick?"

Rachel stood in the door of the bathroom, a confused and frightened expression in her big eyes.

"Hi, sweetie," she said, as she finished washing her face and turned to pull the child into her arms. "Mommie had a little upset stomach. I'm okay now."

Rachel hugged her tight, her hand gently patting Cuddy's shoulder.

"Will Howse be okay too?" She asked.

Cuddy leaned back to look at her daughter. Had she heard them fighting?

"House will be okay too," she assured her, wanting to allay any fears before they took up root.

"He's bleeding," Rachel said, and Cuddy startled.

"Bleeding?"

"He took out the trash," she explained as if that answered the questions flowing through Cuddy's mind.

"You watched him take the trash outside?" Rachel had gotten into the habit of standing at the kitchen door as if she were guarding House when he took the trash to the outside can.

Rachel nodded. "He hit the wall," she said. "His hand has blood."

Cuddy watched as her daughter explained what she'd seen, gesturing with her hands and pointing at her knuckles to identify the location of the blood.

_Shit!_ House had hit the wall and Rachel had seen.

"It's okay, honey. I know that was scary, but House would never hurt you," she said. "He's just upset."

Rachel nodded in agreement, appearing unaffected by the entire ordeal. "Howse is not mad at us; he's mad 'cause he's scared."

_Out of the mouths of babes._

"That's right," she agreed. It was obvious Rachel was not in need of comfort. But if House knew Rachel saw him hit that wall….

"Come on baby," she said. "I need you to play in your room for a little while so I can take care of House."

"He takes care of you too," Rachel stated as a matter of fact.

"Yes he does," Cuddy said. "We take care of each other."

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

She found him outside. He was sitting on the ground near the trash can, leaning against the house. His eyes were closed, but she didn't need to see them to know he was broken. She'd seen this before, almost a year ago when she'd walked into his bathroom to find him clutching the bottle of pills.

She sat down in front of him and examined his hand. It wasn't broken, thank God.

Cuddy opened the antiseptic bottle and began to clean the wound. She felt his eyes open, felt him watching her.

"Rachel?" His voice cracked.

"She's okay," she answered and looked up at him. "We're all okay."

He closed his eyes again and dropped his head. If he'd been punishing himself before, he was torturing himself now. Her heart broke for him.

She pulled the gauze and pads from the packaging and began to dress his wound. It was time for some honesty. It was past time. There was so much about this man she didn't understand, so many contradictions, so much complexity. Yet, there was so much she seemed to fundamentally "get" without any logic or explanation. They were connected that way. And they stayed connected through truth, not pretense. It didn't matter how ugly, or frightening, or painful, truth was something they could hold on to and use as a guide. Perhaps she needed to stop trying to figure out what things meant and just say what she knew. Maybe then he'd follow suit.

"I saw you this morning in the shower," she said as she wrapped the bandage around his hand. His eyes jerked up to look at her and she felt the chill of embarrassment and shame as he tried to pull away. She held his hand still.

"I was bringing you coffee," she explained. "I realized you were punishing yourself and I was upset at myself for ignoring the signs, for not seeing that you were having a hard time. I was ashamed and mad at myself for not being there for you when you've been there for me this whole time. So I pretended to be going back to sleep so you wouldn't see I am a hypocrite."

Once she'd secured the bandage, she leaned back to look him in the eye.

"I don't think you have any reason to be ashamed," she said. "I don't think you need to be punished, and I certainly don't want to see you hurt. But I know it doesn't matter what I think. This is something you have to work through."

The tears welled up in her eyes and she moved to sit by his side, resting her head on his shoulder. He was tense and withdrawn, his body almost convulsing beneath the pressure of his emotions. He was so strong, and so fragile.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to hide what you're feeling," she said, and wrapped her hands around his arm to hug it to her. "You don't have to pretend you're comfortable being normal when it's actually painful to you. You don't have to deny your past or its recurring nightmare. And you don't have to act strong when you feel overwhelmed. We're in this together. We shouldn't be pretending…"

She felt her stomach turn and a dry heave rise in her throat. She abruptly pulled away and rushed toward the bathroom, knowing full well this was a precursor to the bile that would surely follow.

It was happening too often. The nausea and vomiting, the diarrhea and dizziness, had been a part of her routine all day and she was growing weaker by the minute.

This wasn't just something she ate; it wasn't just a reaction to the medicine.

Cuddy felt her hair being pulled away from the face as she threw up into the commode. House sat down beside her; the tumult of emotions seemed to vanish at the first indication of her need. As he had been for weeks, he was totally focused on his care for her. He soothed her. Between bouts of illness, he wiped her face and brow. He placed a cold rag on the back of her neck, and he held her as she started to cry.

"We need to get you to the hospital," he softly said.

She nodded in defeat. He didn't need to tell her. They both knew she'd developed Clostridium Difficile.


	26. Chapter 26

_I haven't had a chance to respond to the reviews yet, but please know that I appreciate your kind words._

_We've reached the countdown to the end of this story. I hope you continue to enjoy._

_Disclaimer: I'm not even sure I have to speak the obvious, but no I'm not connected with the show at all._

He was too quiet.

He'd hardly spoken since they'd gotten in the car. Rachel was tucked into her car seat in the back, the hospital was expecting them, and Julia had been called to meet them there. He'd handled everything. He'd been efficient, careful and silent. He appeared to be focused on the road, but Cuddy could feel him withdrawing, sinking into the darkness. She was losing him, and there wasn't anything she could do to stop it.

"I know you're going to leave," she said.

His jaw pulsed as he ground his teeth and his hand tightened on the steering wheel, but he didn't look at her.

Cuddy fought back the tears.

"You think you don't deserve to be happy, that you can't be what we need," she said. "You think we'll be better off without you."

She wanted him to speak, to say something, anything. But his eyes remained on the road.

"You're wrong," she said, and reached out to take his hand, holding it between both of hers.

She didn't know how to reach him. She didn't know how to make him understand the humiliation he felt was based on an illusion. It wasn't truth at all. What they had together was more real than anything he'd experienced in the past.

They were only a block away from the hospital. She didn't have much time. If she guessed right, he would wait for Julia to pick-up Rachel, and he'd leave. He'd walk away from everything good because he couldn't believe he was anything but bad.

"I know you think you're protecting us." Her voice cracked and a tear rolled down her cheek. "But I really hope you won't leave me. I want you to stay. I need you to stay."

He pulled into the emergency entrance and parked the car. Cuddy saw one of the nurses coming out to meet them with a wheelchair.

House tried to pull his hand out of her grasp, but she held it firm, willing him to look at her.

"Don't do this, House," she whispered. His eyes met hers and her breath caught at the pain she saw in their stormy depths.

"I'll get Rachel," he said with a raspy voice, and lightly squeezed her hand. She released a breath and felt the tears freely fall down her cheeks.

"I love you," she said.

The car door opened beside her and the nurse immediately began to help her out of the car. She wouldn't look away from him. She held his eyes until the wheelchair was pulled away from the car, and he dropped his head to stare blankly at his lap. She wondered if he'd even say goodbye.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

They had just started the fluid drip in her IV when Julia arrived.

"Are you okay?" she said, coming to take her hand as she stood by the bed.

"I've just been throwing up a lot," she answered. "I'm dehydrated and tired, but I'll be okay."

Julia frowned and Cuddy knew she was sensing - as only a sister can - there was something more. She looked over at House where he was hovering in the corner. After he'd issued instructions to the staff and gotten Rachel settled down at a safe distance from the bed with a coloring book and crayons, he'd leaned against the wall and absently stared at his cane. He was biding his time, waiting to bolt, ready to escape. She was afraid to think about where, or how.

"What's going on?" Julia asked.

"It's probably C-diff," he answered only glancing up for a moment before he continued bouncing his cane. "She'll get fluids, Lactobacillus, Bentyl for stomach cramping if she needs it, and they'll add fidaxomicin."

"They," she asked. "You're not handling her case?"

Leave it to Julia to pick-up on his withdrawal.

"I'm not her attending," he said and moved toward the door. His shoulders were slumped low and he was leaning heavily on his cane. He was still avoiding her eyes; he was looking everywhere but at her in fact. Cuddy wanted to cry, to beg him not to leave. She wanted to slap some sense into him. She wanted to hold him, to heal him. "I'm gonna go check on some things. Rachel's bag is on the chair. She only had a snack. We rushed out before we could take care of dinner."

Rachel suddenly jumped up. "I don't want to go!"

"It's okay, Rachel," Julia quickly answered. "Your mom's going to be okay. We'll check on her tomorrow and we can Skype like we did last time."

"I don't want to go with you," she yelled and stamped her foot adamantly.

"Honey, you can't stay here at the hospital with me," Cuddy interjected. "We don't want you to get sick too."

"I don't want to go," Rachel yelled again and Cuddy could sense a full fledge temper tantrum was ensuing. "I want to stay with Howse!"

Cuddy was surprised. Julia was stunned. But House was completely shell-shocked, and even that would be an understatement if she was judging his reaction correctly.

Julia recovered first. "Rachel, House needs to stay with your Mommie. He's taking care of her."

"I stay too," she demanded. Cuddy didn't think she'd ever seen Rachel so determined, or so temperamental.

Julia stepped toward her, leaning down to pick her up, but Rachel dodged her, running straight to House. She grabbed his hand and looked up at him as if he would be on her side.

Cuddy felt her chest constrict and the tears well in her eyes. He was so ready to run, so certain he had scared Rachel, so determined to protect them both from his self-destructive tendencies. Yet here her daughter stood by his side, a little warrior, staring up at him with loyal and loving eyes. House looked like he'd stepped into an alternate reality and was facing a firing squad.

"Rachel, the hospital has rules," Julia calmly explained. "And those rules are made to protect people, and that includes you and your Mommie, and even House. You need to come home with me tonight so your Mommie can rest and get better."

Rachel leaned into House wrapping one of her arms around his left leg as the other squeezed his hand. She stared at her aunt in defiance.

"No," she said. "I want to stay with Howse."

Cuddy watched the blood drain from his face as the humiliation House had been nurturing was ravaged by the allegiance and obvious adoration of her daughter. He swallowed hard as he looked down at her, processing her expression and stance.

"I stay with you," she assured him.

House looked at Cuddy for the first time since they'd entered the hospital. He seemed so lost and confused, but she didn't think she'd ever been so clear.

"Rachel, enough," Julia said firmly, and reached for her arm to pull her away from House.

"No!" Rachel screamed.

House startled and quickly jumped to action. He bent and scooped Rachel into his arms.

"It's okay," he stiffly said. "She can stay with me."

Julia frowned, clearly stunned by the sudden turn of events. "Is that safe? I thought C-diff was…"

"I'll take care of her," he said and looked at Cuddy. She couldn't tell if he was looking for support or guidance, if he was looking to her for rescue or assurance.

"You're sure?" Julia said, looking back and forth between the two of them.

"I'll take her," he nodded and limped over to get Rachel's things.

Cuddy felt relieved. Rachel's little temper tantrum had unwittingly given her the time she needed to figure out how to keep him from running, how to convince him they were better off together than apart in spite of what his demons were telling him.

"I'll...I'll call you," he fumbled, glancing at her one last time before making a hasty retreat.

"What was that about?" Julia demanded.

"I'm not sure," she answered honestly, but she had a feeling it was a good thing.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

She was trying to sleep, but she couldn't turn off her brain.

Cuddy had managed to sidetrack all of Julia's questions, assuring her they had just had a little family misunderstanding. Her sister had accepted the answer much easier than she would have expected, probably because of the way Rachel had acted with House. Obviously there was no animosity or reason for concern. If anything, it was clear there was a bond between them that no one had seen or expected. His awkward retreat didn't seem to impact Julia at all, unlike Cuddy, who had been worrying over it for hours now.

House hadn't returned all night. Rachel's determination to stay by his side had certainly shaken him. That was clear. But how? Was he frustrated she'd prevented his hasty retreat? Was he staggered by the strength of her allegiance, her need to be with him? Was he afraid of what her devotion would mean to him? Of what it would do to her?

It had to be clear to him now that Rachel was not afraid of him, that his anger had not frightened or threatened her at all. He wasn't perpetuating his past. He hadn't robbed a child of her innocence or altered her belief in hope and faith. He didn't have any reason to beat himself up over this episode. Unfortunately, the knowledge that Rachel had witnessed his anger wasn't the only thing he was dealing with.

House had spent so many years locked away, dead on the inside in so many ways. He embraced one kind of pain to protect himself from feeling another. He'd learned very early on that love came with a vulnerability to pain. He understood on a fundamental level that a person could only really experience a loving relationship if there existed enough self-esteem to protect from the devastation of rejection, loss and betrayal. He'd learned that with Stacy.

He'd struggled with those childhood demons, never believing he deserved to be happy, to be loved. The pain of the infarction was less destructive than the pain of deceit. He'd realized he couldn't afford to give Stacy the love that he was unable to give himself, and it had destroyed them. It had almost destroyed him.

He'd developed a pattern of self-preservation as a young, frightened boy, and it was those behaviors that allowed him to keep his soul alive. He'd learned to live in the extreme realms, distant and apart. He was proud that he lived with the absence of emotional pain, and wielded his physical pain as a weapon of defense. But he'd lived without joy; he hadn't known happiness.

House was happy with her. She knew that. Their relationship was a huge step for him. He'd gone into it with eyes wide opened this time, understanding the happiness he sought was not about the absence of pain, but the capacity to bear pain without it altering the love. Still, there were times when darkness came, when something triggered memories or someone chiseled through his fortress. The shame would rob him of his self-respect, of any hope of loving himself. The self-loathing would take over and humiliation would take root. It was then his soul was threatened and he would revert to the patterns that had always served him well. But those strategies were self-defeating because they didn't leave room for the love he so desperately needed. It was a vicious cycle, one she was only just beginning to process, but had no way of really understanding.

Cuddy felt a movement at the IV junction and it startled her. It was Thirteen. She'd been so lost in thought she hadn't heard her come into the room.

"Sorry," she smiled, and began to swap out the IV bag.

"That's just fluid," Cuddy said. "Shouldn't a nurse be doing that?"

"He saved me, you know?" She ignored the question.

House had a soft spot for this girl. Cuddy suspected it was the darkness in her that he recognized on a fundamental level.

"No," she answered. When House had brought her back onto the team, he had told her Thirteen had been in trouble and that he'd slapped some sense into her. He'd been vague, ready to keep her secret. That's when she'd realized House actually considered Thirteen a friend, not just one of his team.

"He's been very good to me," she said as she finished connecting the new bag. "Better than I deserve."

Cuddy frowned, uncertain of where this conversation was headed.

Thirteen turned to look at her. She had her hands in her pockets and seemed to be struggling to choose her words.

"House sees the darkness in people," she finally said. "He doesn't judge it, or try to fix it. But he does have a way of helping people learn how to see in the dark. It's not so scary once you learn that."

Cuddy searched her expression. "That's what he did for you?" She asked.

Thirteen shrugged.

"Look, I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact you two are seeing each other," she said. "But I can see where he's at right now."

She pulled something out of the pocket of her lab coat. "He'll pull out of it, but you may need something to help you not panic."

Cuddy frowned, confused by this very strange conversation.

"I took this with my phone and printed it out for you," she said, handing her a photo. "Be patient. He'll be back."

It was a picture of House in the Eames chair in his office and he was holding Rachel. She was curled up on his chest, her face snuggled into his shoulder and one of her hands pressed along his jaw. They were both sound asleep.

Cuddy smiled. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

"He's in the dark," Thirteen said as she headed out the door. "But he's not lost."

"Remy!" Cuddy called to her.

Thirteen turned at the door.

"Thank you."

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

"You don't have C-diff," Foreman proclaimed, standing beside her bed in all his arrogance.

She had fallen asleep after Thirteen left, finally feeling at peace after seeing the picture, and had only been awake since they brought the lunch tray. She hoped the soup was going to stay down.

"You're kidding," she said. He handed her the test results.

"We ran two just to be sure," he said. "You don't have C-diff. You had a reaction to the medication. Dehydration and stress didn't help any."

Cuddy quickly read through the results, confirming what he was saying, and felt a wave of relief wash over her. This was good news.

"Where's House?"

"Speaking of stress," Foreman frowned at her.

"And worrying about him helps so much," she answered sarcastically.

"He's in his office," he said and crossed his arms at his chest. "He built a pirate ship for Rachel out of chairs, IV poles and sheets. She's taking a nap on the plank."

Cuddy smiled at the vision. She was relieved to know Rachel was being protected from any fears and anxiety that being in a hospital can bring, but it didn't relieve her mind regarding House. He could be pretending, taking care of business and biding time until he could bolt, to crawl away into his cave and self-destruct.

"She calls him a Scallywag."

"I know," Cuddy chuckled. She hated that House had gotten Rachel hooked on that cartoon, but it had certainly opened up a world of bonding for them.

"It's appropriate," he said, then turned more serious. "Look, I don't know what to tell you. House is House. He does things his own way. But he is being a complete ass, and that's a good sign. I think it's also good that he's not alone. Whatever he's feeling, or pretending not to feel, he's not closing himself off."

Cuddy nodded. Indeed it was a good thing. As long as he wasn't completely shutting down, there was hope that the love and support of others would eventually seep through that shell of his. God knows, it would be hard to resist the adoration of that little girl for too long. She could only hope she could do the same for him. She hoped the consistent, unwavering love between them would rebuild his reserves and enable him to quickly work through his issues.

"Thank you," she said. She was grateful so many people had rallied around him this time; they were supporting the both of them.

He nodded and took the test results from her. "You're potassium is a bit low, so we'll take care of that," he said. "But I think you'll be able to go back home today."

She could feel his eyes on her before she even saw House in the door.

"Give me that," he said, jerking the results out of Foreman's hands.

He was such a jerk. And she was so happy to see him.

"It's not C-diff."

"Glad you told us," Foreman said and took the results back from him. "Maybe you two could stop anticipating the worst for a while."

House scowled and Foreman shook his head. "I'll talk with Wilson and we'll complete the release papers."

Cuddy grinned as Foreman left and House came to sit on the stool by the bed.

"I'm glad you're here," she said.

He shook his head in frustration. "I'm really screwed up."

_Okay. He's going to jump right into it._

"I know," she said. "We both are."

"No, you're not."

"Don't do that," she said. "Don't put me on a pedestal."

He looked down at the floor. There was so much she wanted to say, but she was afraid none of it was what he needed to hear. She needed to wait for him to take the lead in the conversation. He needed to sort through what he was feeling and experiencing. He obviously was doing just that or he wouldn't be with her right now. So, she needed to give him time, to give him the space he needed to fully feel the impact of what had happened and recognize the truth.

In the meantime, she could get dressed. If they were going to release her, she wanted to be ready. Being a patient in the hospital was a much different experience than working there.

House helped her gather her clothes and pushed the IV pole for her as she went into the bathroom.

"You going to help me?" She asked when he paused at the door.

"I know what you're doing," he said, coming in behind her to untie the gown. When he released the snaps, the fabric dropped to the floor. "You're reminding me of what I'd be missing if I left."

"I'm such a bitch."

She could see in the mirror that he was fighting back a grin, but he didn't respond as he gently ran his fingers along her shoulder. She turned and tugged at his jacket, pulling him close to her for a kiss.

Her lips lightly brushed his, tasting him before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her body into his. He wrapped his arms around her and his hands cupped her rear as he ground his hips into her.

How was it being in his arms always made things right?

His tongue took charge of her mouth, fully exploring, seeking and finding. His hands started to roam, tracing the line of her spine and spreading out along her shoulders before dropping to her hips again. Cuddy felt a surge of desire and moaned.

House pulled away. His eyes searched hers and she could tell he was not only controlling his need for her, but seeking reassurance.

"I'm 52 years old," he said. "I'm not going to change."

"People don't change," she reminded him. "And I haven't asked you to."

"You should want me to."

"Why?" She asked. "So you'll have a reason to push me away?"

She cupped his cheeks and leaned in to run kisses down his jaw before lightly biting his chin.

"I was going to leave," he finally whispered.

_Was. Past tense._

"I know," she said. "I'm glad you didn't."

She ran her hands down his chest and took a deep breath as she stepped away from him.

"You're it for me House," she said. "There is no one else. If you leave, then you only hurt us both and doom us to a horrible life alone."

His eyes roamed her face, stopping at her lips. "You're a real ray of sunshine," he said.

She grinned. "That's why you love me."

"I do, you know?" Her breath caught at the intensity of his words.

His eyes dropped, devouring every inch of her as she stood naked before him. She was completely exposed, bared naked with a symbol of her weakness and vulnerability connected to her arm. Her hair was a mess and she didn't wear any make-up, and yet he was looking at her as if he'd never seen anything so beautiful. He was almost overtaken with his want for her. His eyes were glassy, his mouth slightly opened, his breathing was becoming labored.

Oh God, she thought. Does he have any idea what he does to me?

"We need to stop by the clinic before we leave," she said. He frowned at her words and stepped back, obviously disappointed and confused by the abrupt change in mood and direction.

"My body may not be cooperating, but the rest of me is quite clear on what I want," she explained.

His brows arched and a glimmer of hope danced in his eyes.

"We're going to need some lube," she said, and pulled him to her again. "Lots of it."


	27. Chapter 27

_Thank you for the reviews. It's sweet to know some of you don't want it to end, and I'm very happy you like where this is going, what it's exploring. __ Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy! _

_Disclaimer: Not connected._

"We really did anticipate the worst," Cuddy said as she entered the bathroom. "Maybe we are spending too much time anticipating the next blow and not enough time on enjoying the good stuff."

"I anticipate my next blow will be the good stuff," House said, turning to grin lecherously at her.

Cuddy came to an abrupt halt and frowned. "What are you doing?"

He had shaving cream on his chin.

"What?" His eyes widened in concern and puzzlement.

"You're shaving?" She was appalled at the thought, which clearly amused House.

"Don't panic. It's just a trim," he said. He knew she loved his scruffy look. More importantly, he knew she liked how it felt along her skin. "I'll still be able to leave marks on your thighs."

Cuddy grinned and jumped up on the vanity at the sink to face him. He looked into the mirror and smoothed the cream down his neck. He had a beautiful neck. There was something quite compelling about the shape of his Adam's apple along the plane leading to his collar.

"You're wearing my shirt," he noted, as he washed the excess cream off his hands and dried them.

"You were expecting a bustier?

"I was hoping for naked."

"We're practicing delayed gratification," she stated sarcastically.

"I thought it was abstinence," he said.

Cuddy looked down at her hands and picked at her nail nervously.

"I'm sorry," she said. "We could have…"

"Don't," he interrupted. "You are not feeling guilty."

She looked at him, searching his eyes before grinning at him suggestively.

"Can I do that?" She asked, gesturing to the razor in his hand.

"You want to cut my throat?"

She chuckled. "Not yet."

He handed her the razor and she slid over slightly so he could step between her legs.

"You realize this sharp object can make or break your ability to experience a spectacular orgasm tonight?"

"It's a good thing I have my priorities in order," she sassed.

House grinned and titled his head back so she could run the razor from his neck to just below his chin. She wasn't removing his beard, only shaping it, creating a line at the underside of his chin and jaw. As she rinsed the razor, House watched her. She knew he could see her excitement, could feel how the intimacy of a basic grooming task, and the innate trust affected her. She was thrilled, with butterflies taking flight in her stomach. It was probably silly to feel giddy, and yet that's exactly how she felt: like a teenage girl touching her guy for the first time.

"You keep smiling like that, I'll start to think we're about to reenact a scene from Sweeney Todd," he said. "And I don't think it will turn out so good for you."

Cuddy grinned and she slowly made a line with the razor. "Yet you're going to stand there and let me do it?"

"I'm taking cues from my patient," he said. "Let people hurt you and call it art.

Cuddy stopped to look at him. "You're talking about Afsoun Hamidi?"

"The brilliant performance artist!"

"She's crazy," Cuddy said, and made another line through the cream on his neck.

"She's taken her pain and transformed it into meaningful art."

"You don't think that," she argued as she rinsed the razor.

"No," he agreed. "But Thirteen does."

"Of course."

"Afsoun believes her art forces the audience to break with rational thinking and see things in a new way," he said.

"She's not trying to expand anyone's mind," Cuddy said. "She wants to die but she wants to make a point, so she manipulates people to create drama in the hopes that she'll be remembered."

Cuddy tilted his head to the side so she could start on the other side when she noticed the suddenly guarded expression.

"What?"

"That's what I said," he told her. "Until I found out she's already dying."

She dropped her hands and looked at him.

"Then why…"

"She researched me," he said. "She created a puzzle that would not only intrigue me, but would ensure my personal involvement in her case. How does that help her to go out with a bang? Wouldn't going through with the original performance and having someone kill her be a better denouement?"

He was still working through that puzzle, but Cuddy felt a sudden sadness for this obviously lonely woman. "Why wouldn't she spend her last days with friends and people who love her?"

"Her art is what gives her meaning," he said. "It's where she finds happiness."

"I don't believe that," Cuddy said. People only used that line when they didn't want to admit how painful it was to be alone. "It's how she hides from her pain. People are so busy looking at her art they don't see her, so she feels safe and superior, as if she's risen above her past. But she hasn't. In the end her legacy won't even be about her art, it will be about her pain. She'll never find happiness because she'll miss all of the good things in her life while she's hiding from the very thing that will define her in history."

House was staring at her intently and she suddenly felt uncomfortable. Did House feel an affinity with this patient? Was it really the puzzle, or had this woman struck a chord with him?

She tilted his head and began to shave him again.

"I guess you think I'm crazy," she said somberly.

"Because you enjoy wielding a weapon?"

"No," she answered, not amused by his deflection. "Because I've got such strong opinions about your patient."

"You weren't talking about the patient," he said pointedly. "You were talking about me."

Cuddy froze and stared at him.

"I wasn't," she whispered, worrying over this sudden change in direction of the conversation.

He stared at her blankly, waiting for her to admit she was actually talking about him.

"I wasn't!" Her voice was stronger this time. "I was talking about her."

She turned to rinse the razor again. "I'm not going to say I don't see an obvious correlation, but I am talking about her. You're different."

Cuddy turned back to him. She's triggered, but she wasn't even sure he knew what it was. She looked in his eyes, with empathy more than understanding, then made the last two strokes along his jaw with the razor.

"The last time mom and dad came to see me, before he died, my father said my problem was that I didn't appreciate what I had," House said. "He never acknowledged what he did. He never…"

His voice trailed off as he drifted into bitter memories.

"I've had this fantasy a long time, you know," she flirted, attempting to redirect him. He didn't need to fade into black again.

She wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him closer as she moved the razor to his cheek and started to clean the line at the top of the beard and along his mustache.

"This does it for you?" He asked, intrigued by her action.

"Hmmm," she agreed and focused on the movement at his cheek. She eased the razor along his face, slowly, carefully, slicing through the foam and clearing a path. She wondered how such a rudimentary grooming task could feel so intensely erotic. "You do it for me."

Her hand dropped to the sink to rinse he razor again, but her eyes never left his.

"These are the moments I cling to when things get tough," she said. "I remember every expression…every smell…every touch. I think about how it is with us." Her words came out slow, mixing a sensuality with the truth.

"When the world disappears," he added shyly. "When nothing exists but the two of us?"

The fact he understood pleased her more than he could possibly know. "When there's no fear, no worry. Everything is just right."

His fingers came up to gently push the hair away from her face. He was looking at her with such breathtaking tenderness. At times like these she felt the weight of his love for her, a love she never imagined possible much less that it would be so all encompassing.

"Being with you like this gives me strength."

There was only the briefest pause.

"Yeah," he whispered.

Cuddy dropped the razor into the sink and reach for the warm, wet towel to wipe his jaw. His eyes drank her in as she removed the cream residue.

She felt his hands on her thighs, his fingers lightly grazing her skin. House cupped her rear and slowly, gently kneaded her skin as he leaned into her. She dropped the towel to the side and slid her hands up his chest.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" She whispered.

He released a cynical chuckle. She grinned.

"You are," she affirmed as she traced the muscles of his chest, shoulders and biceps.

He leaned down to her neck and slowly moved his jaw up to just beneath her ear.

"I want you," he murmured.

She cupped his cheeks and pulled his face to her, nipping at his lower lip, teasing him. His tongue stroked her bottom lip and she opened her mouth so her tongue could flick against his with fast shallow licks. Cuddy moaned when he suddenly took her tongue fully into his mouth and sucked on it.

His lips moved against hers as if he was eating at her, mating with her lips until she was panting for more of him. He gave her everything he had, freely, openly, without reserve. His passion for her was a gift and in the unwrapping he not only revealed himself, but exposed her. Her senses were full of him, his deep moans, his musky scent, his tangy flavor. When her eyes looked into his, she drowned in the depth of his soul.

His hands were restless and heated as they ran up and down her spine. Cuddy felt a familiar surge of excitement that she welcomed with enthusiasm. He easily unbuttoned the shirt and pushed it open, to bare her breasts. Instead of touching them, cupping them, or tasting them as she anticipated, as she desired, he gripped her ass and pulled her hard against him.

His erection was like steal, and as her sensitive nipples grazed the hardened muscles of his chest, she felt the tormenting pleasure of need. Cuddy shuddered and House growled. She felt his erection jerk between them and felt the pulsing heat against her skin. It was exciting to know she could so quickly drive him to the edge.

Cuddy eased off the vanity and took his hand, guiding him into the bedroom. She removed the shirt as he dropped the pajama bottoms he was wearing, and when she reached for him, he lifted her slightly and pushed her onto the bed. She didn't have time to breathe before he was on his knees between her legs.

He parted his knees and in doing so spread her thighs wide. His eyes devoured her; her skin was electric from the depth of his desire.

House slid his hand up her thigh and ran his fingers along the lips between her legs. Cuddy gasped for air, the feel of him touching her igniting her flesh and resurrecting the passion that had been absent for so long. The muscles in her legs contracted and she began to writhe, desperate for a more intimate touch.

"Oh, House," she cried out. He slipped his fingers between her folds and moved from tip to the entrance at her core.

It felt as if he were exploring every nerve individually. He moved with so slow, steady intent, examining and analyzing every reaction, moving with deliberation and controlled intensity. She felt the glorious tension building.

When he probed her deeply, caressing the interior walls, she tightened around him. She tried to move her legs, seeking what was evading her, but House pushed her legs even farther apart with his knees. She felt the heat building and caught the pleased grin as he moved the moisture along her clit.

"We're going to make up for lost time," he said, and kneeled down to replace his fingers with his tongue.

He lapped at her, sucked on her clit and probed her center. He was relentless in his exploration and she didn't know if she could take much more. The tension tightened to unbearable and he sucked hard on her clit even as his tongue continued a rhythmic tap. She exploded.

Her need for him was fierce. Cuddy was still in the throes of a cataclysmic orgasm when she reached out to pull him to her. She needed him inside her; she needed to feel him hammering into her.

House rolled over and brought her to straddle him, pulling her off her knees so her feet were braced at his shoulders. She caught herself as she fell back between his spread legs. She leaned back on her hands that were near his feet. His legs were bent, his thighs wide open, and he sat up to brace himself on his hands mirroring her posture

His gaze was hot, his grin lecherous, as he waited for her to take what she fiercely wanted. In this stagecoach position, she was in total control of the pace and the depth of penetration. She grinned back at him, knowing he was encouraging her to embrace – or straddle – some of the power she felt she'd lost. He wanted her to enjoy the thrill and control of her sexuality, uninhibited by fears or anxiety, by self-consciousness and shame. From this angle she was in charge and yet fully open, and he enjoyed that as much as the view.

She moved on him and took him inside her, sliding down to feel him deep. He leaned back, lifting his hips, and she felt him against the upper wall of her vagina. She cried out in surprised pleasure and continued to move against him. He was hard and thick. The pulse of his erection matched her own internal rhythm, and the syncopated beat brought them into a primal dance to the edge of ecstasy. They screamed in harmony as they fell into to colorful abyss.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

Cuddy could hardly move. She was curled up against him, low on his body with her head resting on his abdomen. She mindlessly moved her fingers along his pelvis and hip, making slow circle patterns before moving down his thigh. Her eyes opened when her fingers encountered the deep, gnarled crevice of the scar on his thigh. She followed the path of her fingers as it traced the various ridges.

She felt him tense and his breathing become shallow. After all this time, as often as she'd seen him naked, touched his body, he still felt ashamed, embarrassed by the weakness and loss. So much of the infarction experience exacerbated the humiliation he battled. He saw the scar as a reflection of his pain and worthlessness, an ugly reminder of a deep internal flaw.

"Do you think she realizes her art doesn't just ask people to break from rational thought, but taps into the darkest, most corrupt nature of man?" Cuddy asked. She knew he'd understand she was asking about his patient.

"I think she's dealing with her own mortality," he said. "She wants to be noticed so she's acting out, hoping to be seen…and remembered."

"She wants to be remembered for pain? For bringing out the worst in people?"

"She wants to find meaning," he answered simply. "She wants answers."

Cuddy considered his words as she continued to move her fingers along his scar. It seemed the search for meaning, or even the concept of it, was clouded by pain and shame. Disgrace and self-abasement was exalted to give significance to the pain.

"Is meaning found in such mortification?" She asked.

He didn't answer.

"The whole concept of forcing people to think outside the box and beyond what they see as rational, suggests that perception is a trap."

"It is," House agreed. "Truth is what matters."

"But if your sensibilities are assaulted by darkness and evil, the bad and ugliness of human nature assumes an overriding importance," she said. "It magnifies pain and suffering to the point where you don't even see that beauty and goodness make up at least an equal part in life. That perception becomes your reality, and any meaning you think you find is filtered through that reality."

House shifted uncomfortably.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

Cuddy sighed. They'd just had great sex and she was ruining it with philosophical rambling, and an analysis too close to home. It was just that the past couple of days weighed heavily on her. They had impacted her.

House may argue that people don't change, but she believed she was changing. Her vulnerability through this illness - with the fear and self-doubt, the anger and the complete helplessness – was opening her up in many ways. She believed it was allowing her to see House in a different light, to become more empathetic and relate better with him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I've been a little injured myself and now I'm facing my own mortality. I'm finding my own meaning."

House tentatively touched her head, gently running his fingers through her hair.

"You found an answer?"

She stopped tracing his scar and let her hand rest on it, palm opened to cup it.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know what I'm saying."

She paused to find her words.

"I think our scars tell a story. They aren't a reflection of who we are, or a response to what we deserve. They just prove we're human and relatable, and if we're open to it, they create a bridge of compassion and love."

Cuddy pulled herself up so she could look him in the face, could see his eyes. She curled up beside him, resting her head near his shoulder.

"We always come together in pain," she said. "You and I can be disconnected and confused, things can be at their darkest, but that's when we seem to find each other."

His eyes searched hers with vulnerability and warmth. She noticed he wasn't withdrawing; he couldn't deny the truth of her words. She could feel him relax at the truth, and she smiled at him.

"There's no need to hide or be afraid when you are experiencing someone else's pain," she said. "The natural empathy seems to remove insecurity."

"You think you're going through all of this so you'll be more open to love me?" He asked, attempting to minimize the cynicism in his tone even as he searched to understand.

"No," she answered. "I don't think it's why I'm going through it. But it is the result."

House seemed to be thinking about what she'd said. He was looking at her, but she had a feeling he was seeing right through her. That was okay. She didn't mind. Even if he thought she was an idiot for what she was thinking, for what she felt, it was important for her to tell him.

"I told Nolan I wanted to be happy," he finally said as he turned on his side to face her fully. "When I was at Mayfield."

She wished she'd known that was his desire at the time. If she'd known he didn't want to be miserable, that he wanted things to be different...

"He wanted me to connect," he continued. "To open up and trust. I thought he was an idiot."

She understood that. He'd been hurt, abused and betrayed; opening up to risk more of the same seemed irrational. It went against the survival instinct.

"I'm happy with you," he said.

Cuddy smiled and moved closer to him, tangling her legs with his as she pulled him into an embrace.

"We didn't have to use the lube," she grinned.

"If that is your way of saying our love is stronger than KY jelly," he teased. "Your metaphor needs some serious work."

"Our love is stronger than infectious, drug-induced libido killers!"

"God, Cuddy," he said with a feigned sense of awe. "You're such a romantic."

Cuddy laughed and began to rain kisses down his chest and across his stomach. She glanced up at him and saw the excitement in his eyes when he realized what she was doing. He positioned himself so she'd have better access.

"I can't tell you how open I am right now," he quickly said as she reached his groin.

Cuddy glared at him, unimpressed by his mocking, even though she knew it actually meant he was thinking about what she'd said. Perhaps he even thought her words had merit.

"I'm open to anything you want to give," he said with enthusiasm. "I'm open to kindness and generosity…and building a legacy of love that will last."

She rolled her eyes at his dramatic flair.

"Love conquers all," he declared with passionate conviction.

"Shut up, House," she said, and took him into her mouth.

He gasped as she blew him away.


	28. Chapter 28

_This chapter was getting a little long so I had to end it on a cliff hanger. Hopefully you will still enjoy it and find the wait worth it! :-)_

_Thanks for all of the reviews and your constant support._

_Disclaimer: I'm not involved with Shore and team._

The giggles rang through the house as Cuddy played with her daughter.

She had the soles of her feet pressed against her daughter's stomach as she pushed her into the air. Cuddy would bend her legs to lower her and then quickly press up, straightening her legs and moving them around, balancing Rachel as she simulated flying. It was a strenuous workout for Cuddy, much more than she should be doing at this point in her recovery, but she didn't care. She wanted to play; she wanted to make memories.

House was on the sofa pretending to read, but Cuddy felt his eyes on her, studying her intently.

She pulled Rachel down into a hug and whispered into her ears.

"House looks grumpy." Rachel looked over at him as she added, "I think he needs the tickle monster."

Rachel giggled and wriggled out of Cuddy's arms, quickly running over to House.

He frowned at Cuddy and scowled at the little girl, but it didn't slow her down. She jumped onto the sofa and bounced over to him, reaching out to attack him with tickles.

House was fast. He grabbed her by the torso and pushed her into the air as if he were weight lifting.

Rachel squealed, at first in surprise, but quickly followed with glee. House awkwardly balanced himself as he stood; shifting most of his weight onto his good leg, and pushed her even higher into the air. Rachel burst into fits of laughter.

"You can never defeat the fearless giant," he growled and threw her into the air.

Rachel screamed in delight. House caught her and swung her over his shoulder as easy as he would a book bag.

"You will be tossed into the dungeon for your brazen assault," he said.

Rachel giggled. "I not a raisin!"

House was trying not to grin. "I not going to dungeon. I going to tickle you."

"Tickle me?" he demanded. "You dare tickle me?"

Her little chortles were infectious; Cuddy began to chuckle.

"Mommy said you grumpy and need the tickle monster!" She was pounding on his back as she laughed and explained.

House turned quickly and glared at Cuddy with eyes wide in feigned horror.

"Betrayed by the Nymph-o!"

"Mommy not a nympho!"

His grin turned salacious. "Oh, yes she is!"

Cuddy rolled her eyes and stood up. "Okay," she said as she clapped her hands. "That's enough play. We need to get this little girl into bed, and she's going to need some time to wind down now."

"Spoil sport," he teased and pulled Rachel from his shoulder so Cuddy could take her.

"I want House to read me story," she said as she held tight to his neck.

"What age do we teach the birds and the bees?"

"Much older," Cuddy said firmly. "And you won't be teaching!"

"I like birds," Rachel said. "But not bees. They sting."

"Some bees…"

"Why don't we go pick a story for House to read?" Cuddy interrupted.

"What?" He asked innocently. "We can't talk about honey pots?"

"Yes, let's read Winnie the Pooh," she said happily, though her eyes bore into his.

"Coward," House accused.

Cuddy shook her head in equal parts exasperation and amusement, and pulled Rachel into her arms.

"Can we read about fairies?" Rachel asked enthusiastically.

"No fairies," House groaned.

"And no pirates," Cuddy added.

"Mom!" Both Rachel and House whined.

"How about Snuggle Puppy?"

"Yeah," Rachel said. "And Pig Party."

"That's two books," Cuddy said.

"Two for you," she said. "You read dem best."

"I thought you wanted House to read to you?"

"You said no pirates."

House grinned. "Your staunch adherence to rules has turned against you."

"Two stories then," Cuddy said to Rachel as she walked toward the hallway. She glared over her shoulder at House. "I'll deal with you later."

"I'm counting on it."

He was impossible.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

She found him in the tub.

His head was leaning against the back tile as he stretched out in the hot water. The steam was rising off the surface, creating a glistening sheen along his neck and along his temple. For all intents and purposes he was relaxed, but there was something in the crease of his brow that signaled storm clouds brewing.

"Birds and bees?"

He turned to look at her as she pulled the tank top over her head.

"Better she know now," he explained. "That way she won't be so horrified when she catches mommy playing nymph-o with House."

She hung her bra on the back of the door. "She's not going to catch us having sex."

"Of course she will," he said. His eyes followed her hands as she pulled down the yoga pants and stepped out of them. "All kids do."

"We'll be careful," she argued and tossed the lace panties into to clothes hamper.

"No we won't."

Cuddy stood at the side of the tub, her hands braced on her hips as she stared down at him. "We're not going to be reckless and risk her catching us," she said.

His eyes traveled up and down her body, slowly exploring every curve. Flames flickered through her veins as his eyes ignited. It never ceased to amaze her how he could still look at her as if it were the first time seeing her naked. His eyes were wide and curious, excited with a sense of awe. He always seemed to hold his breath as if he were afraid she would turn out to be a dream or hallucination, and yet tonight there was a hint of something more. There was a shadow of dismay in his expression that had her on alert.

"You're not paying attention," she said.

"Oh, yes I am."

She gave a throaty laugh and took the hand he offered as she stepped into the tub.

Cuddy nestled between his legs and leaned back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her. His touch was gentle as always, but he was holding her tighter than she was accustomed. She was cocooned in his embrace, safe and secure, sheltered even. But as he cupped her hands and entwined their fingers, she intuitively felt he was holding on to her as a lifeline.

She frowned. She didn't understand his mood. They'd already worked through the emotionally taxing ordeal surrounding his shame. Well, perhaps worked through was an ambitious take on it. They'd actually just touched on it and walked away more committed than ever. The past two days had been almost peaceful, and she'd felt content. She guessed that should have been an indication something was on the horizon. When had contentment ever been lasting for them?

Cuddy focused on relaxing, on being in the moment, as she waited for him to talk about what was troubling him. She knew it would come.

His fingers ran along hers and his jaw moved along her hair. She felt her tightened muscles release beneath the warmth of the water and the added heat of their joined skin, and she noticed when their breathing slowly became synchronized.

"You've changed," he finally said.

She tilted her head and glanced over her shoulder at him in question.

"I've never seen you play with Rachel like that," he said. "You guide and direct, or you encourage and teach, you don't get down in the floor for rough play."

She shrugged. "I want to enjoy her." It was a simple explanation, but true.

"You're afraid," he said.

She considered it for only a second. "Perhaps," she said. "But I think I really just don't want to miss anything." She eased down a little lower in the water and nestled into the crook of his arm and chest.

"I want to create memories with her," she explained. "I don't want to have a lot of regrets. And I don't want her to grow up with regrets. I want her to know how much I wanted her, how much I loved spending time with her. I don't want her to look back and think I was distant and aloof…or critical."

"You're not following in the matron Cuddy footsteps."

She tensed. "Don't do that," she said. "Don't mock me."

This wasn't about her mom. This was about facing a real possibility of losing her health, if not her life, and being unable to fully enjoy the life she too often took for granted. She wasn't doing this to ensure she wouldn't turn into her mom. She wanted to live. It may seem cliché, and it probably was, but it didn't make her feelings any less real. She felt like he was ridiculing her for wanting to live life to the fullest.

House released an agitated sigh. "You're not your mom."

She flinched. "You're not your dad," she bit back.

It successfully shut him up.

Damn him! Why did he always have to needle and poke, and belittle everyone for trying to have a better life? For searching for a better way? He never failed to attack people who had hope, to challenge their beliefs and deride their logic. He didn't just believe people couldn't change. He didn't think people should even want to change. It was unrealistic.

Cuddy tried to force herself to calm down, to reclaim the relaxed state of just moments before. House was cynical and pessimistic. She knew that. She even understood it most of the time, enjoying the freedom of expressing her general contempt, distrust and bitterness with a like mind. But she also possessed an optimistic outlook, a bit of idealism that was both admirable and frustrating to House.

"Afsoun is going to have the radiation treatment," he said suddenly.

Cuddy quickly processed the declaration. Afsoun was the performance artist patient who not only drew him into her puzzle – a health dilemma and performance – but had become a fascination to him on a level that was concerning. They'd found she had cancer, but she'd refused treatment. She didn't want to lose her abilities, and her lover didn't want to watch her die. She must have evaluated her priorities.

"You sound surprised."

"I am," he said.

"She doesn't want to be alone," Cuddy said. It was a simple equation, really.

"Her entire career has been about being alone," he said.

"You're ignoring the fact they were co-workers, friends and lovers before she got sick and she was still producing just fine," Cuddy pointed out. "It wasn't until she pushed him away when she found she had cancer that everything got messed up."

"Her entire career has been about pushing the limits and going against the grain. It's been about going beyond rules and expectations…and traditional ideas of relationships," he said, obviously ignoring her argument. "Her art is everything and she's going to lose that when we zap her brain. All of her abilities and everything that's brought her meaning and happiness will all be gone."

"You don't think love brought her happiness?"

"Of course it did," he said. "Until it didn't. Besides, he walked out on her."

"She was refusing treatment that would save her, and he couldn't just stand by and watch her intentionally destroy herself."

"She was choosing to die on her terms."

"She has cancer," Cuddy argued. "There's nothing about that disease that's on her terms."

"So she's going to have someone to hold her hand, but she won't have that one thing that made her special, that made her feel like she stood out above the rest," he sneered. "She'll end up resenting him."

"Will she?" Cuddy shifted slightly to look over her shoulder at him. "The radiation may make her hazy, it may even alter some of her abilities, but she can adapt. She will still be able to express herself, just differently. And she won't be alone doing it. She'll have that one person in the world that completely loves and accepts her at her side the entire way – in good times and bad."

Cuddy sat up stiffly and stared at him. "But that's why you're upset about this, isn't it?" she said. "You think you're a worse doctor because you chose love, because you chose me. You think you made a mistake, so you think she's making one too."

He looked like she'd slapped him. He looked shocked and dismayed…and guilty! She stood up and reached for a towel. She was hurt, but not surprised. These confused feelings surrounding love and happiness were like the tides for House. He had moments when the water would rescind and there would only be a light crashing on the shore; the unsteady yet predictable movement would feel peaceful and centering. Then tides would turn and the waves would overtake the shore, crashing and eroding the beauty and stability. It was dangerous to swim in those waters, almost impossible to navigate, and yet it could so easily trap and destroy them if they didn't move.

"Don't go," his voice was choked, and she turned to see he was almost gasping.

Her heart broke. He was still on shifting sand, still unsteady and lost. God she loved him. It wasn't pity, or anger, or even a desperate urge to comfort and nurture him that she felt at this point. She just felt an overwhelming warmth of love overshadow her as she saw his panic.

She reached down and opened the drain before stepping out of the tub. She picked up the other towel and opened it for him.

"Come on," she said gently. "The water is getting cold."

He pulled himself up and took the towel from her.

"And by water you mean me," he said.

He balanced himself against the wall as he stepped out of the tub to stand in front of her. His eyes were averted, intentionally avoiding hers as he quickly and roughly began to run the towel along his skin.

Cuddy caught his wrists in her hands and eased her fingers along his hand and knuckles. He looked up at her then. The tortured, tempered blue steel of his eyes turned into liquid pools of emotion.

She eased the towel from his grasp and began to dry him off. This beautiful man had no idea how to be happy. He wanted it. He searched for it. But the storms were always so dark and threatening; they distorted his view and kept him adrift. He was so brilliant with logic and puzzles, so clearly focused when it came to truth, but so lost when it came to dealing with emotions, with rebuilding and rebounding internally. His past had done this to him. It had blurred the boundaries, removed all lines of distinction. As a young child he'd learned to survive the many hits and blows to his self-esteem, to his very self-worth. He'd processed it as a child with a child's understanding. He'd developed patterns and beliefs. They kept him alive; they gave him drive. They created a perfect environment for him to obsessively develop his mind and talents, to prove his superiority in the face of all expectation. Now, as a man desperately hanging on to a hope he wasn't even sure he believed, they were creating the perfect environment for implosion.

"You're not cold," she said, her voice husky and lightly choked. Standing before her was a man and a child, a boy in a warrior's armor – far too heavy for him – and a man bared naked and exposed.

She wrapped her arms around him as she pulled the towel along his back. Her nipples lightly grazed his chest; their bodies barely touched. She used the towel to pull him down to her.

Cuddy brushed her lips to his in a kiss that was more a breath than actual contact. He looked so vulnerable as he watched her. She moved her lips back and forth along his before settling fully on them again in a gentle melding of tenderness. He leaned into her and pulled her close in such a heartbreakingly tentative embrace it took her breath away. There was such purity to the experience, far disconnected from passion and yet more intimate than she'd ever known.

They could have been kissing for second or minutes. She didn't know. Time seemed to stand still for them. It wasn't until a shiver ran up her spine and she became aware of a brittle cold seeping beneath her skin that she was forcibly pulled from the shroud of truly authentic affection.

"I'm going to make some tea," she said and smiled slightly.

He nodded, still in a daze, and watched as she put on her robe and walked out the door.

Cuddy didn't know whether to be relieved or nervous. This wasn't something that was going to quickly go away, if it ever would. She'd already accepted and resolved the journey with him would be a wild ride, full of storms and dangers, but more fulfilling than anything she'd ever known. House wasn't so resolved.

She frowned as she put on the kettle. This was all part of his dichotomy. He didn't believe people changed, he thought wanting to change was a futile desire. Yet he chose her. He chose a relationship with her knowing that any relationship would require compromise and change. He knew a journey together would require course corrections, adjusting the sails, even reducing the weight load. The very act of choosing her rebelled against his fundamental beliefs and it was chipping away at the fortress that had kept a little boy safe for so many years. She needed to remember this battle wasn't about her; it was about him. It was the epic odyssey from past into the present and toward the future that transcended time and space constructs.

"What are you thinking?"

She turned to look at him. He had put on pajama pants and a t-shirt, and his hair was mussed as if he'd only run a towel over it.

"Isn't that my line?" She grinned. She was the one always asking for insight into his brain, not the other way around.

He leaned against the door jam and crossed his arms. He swallowed hard and she realized he was nervous, maybe even afraid.

"The events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves they happen in their own order…the continuous thread of revelation," she said.

"Eudora Welty." Of course he could identify the quote immediately. She shrugged. It was probably just a trivia answer for him, but it was a true reflection of her thoughts.

He looked away, so she waited. This was the process.

"Van Gogh," he whispered.

Cuddy frowned, confused.

"When Nolan wanted to put me on SSRIs I told him Van Gogh wouldn't have been able to paint the way he did if he'd been drugged," he explained, staring into space as he remembered.

"We don't know that," she said. "He could have painted with a completely different style or vision that was equally amazing. He'd probably have kept his ear, though."

"That's what Nolan said."

He was quiet as he stared at her, gauging her expression. He wasn't looking to her for answers. He was looking in her.

"I know you've been scared," he said. "You faced your own mortality and now you want to live life to the fullest. You want to cherish every moment and appreciate every detail."

Cuddy was speechless. Normally this little diatribe would be spewing with sarcasm and have a mocking tone. His words sounded sincere…and sad.

"I'm not like you," he said. "You face death and pain, and you look beyond it all. You see past the fears and weakness and see possibilities. When I faced it…" His words trailed off as he dropped his head in what could have been defeat or shame.

"You wish you'd died," she finished for him.

"I'm a miserable, selfish bastard. The only redeeming thing about me is medicine."

The kettle whistled.

"You're an idiot," she said on a sigh and yanked the kettle from the stove to prepare the tea. "You don't even see the good that you do. You won't even consider the idea that what you want and who you are can co-exist, that maybe love can actually help you be a better doctor if you harness the power and channel it properly. You only see the failures and ignore all of the successes. And even after all we've been through you don't trust love. You don't even trust yourself when it comes to this. So even when you're happy, you're reaching for pain, even when you're with me, you're alone."

She knew she'd said too much without even looking at him. She'd lectured him. Here he was facing giants and she was patronizing him. She'd not only stepped into his dungeon of despair, she'd shined a spot light on it.

"I'm sorry," she said, running her fingers through her hair to calm herself and gather her thoughts. "Now I'm being an ass."

She gave a half-hearted chuckle and looked up at him. She expected to see anger or hurt. She saw neither.

He was thinking. And oh what she wouldn't give to have some insight into that brain!

"House, I can tell you all of the things that make you more than a brilliant doctor. I can tell you how you change and affect lives, and how you impact people for the good as much as the bad. I can give you solid arguments that prove when you aren't raging against your demons you are a greater power for good than for bad. But it wouldn't matter. The bad is all you see. It's all you want to see."

"I want to see it," he sounded so brittle. "I don't know how."

He turned from her and plopped down on a dining room chair like a defeated child.

Cuddy thought about the little boy he must have been, the one his military father would have broken, believing he was molding a disciplined soldier. House had probably always had a tendency toward pessimism and doubt; so many of our natural tendencies were genetic, part of our neurological make-up. His life experiences had taken his natural tendencies, distorted them and ramped them up to toxic levels.

He could only see the bad, anticipate the worst. He couldn't fully live in the moment as she was trying to do, and that was frustrating him. More than that, it was scaring him because he might be on the outside looking in when he'd only just managed to get inside. Cuddy dropped her head as this sudden realization hit her.

How could she help him see this from a different angle?

She pushed the tea aside and walked around the back of the chair, sliding her fingers along his shoulders as she edged between the chair and table to face him.

"When you were in Japan, did you learn about the yin-yang?"

His eyes quickly traveled along her body before they reached her face. "It's Inyo in Japan," he said. "Everyone knows it on some level. Even here in the states."

"Do you believe it," she pressed. "The philosophy of this Inyo?"

"Why? We going to take up Tai-Chi with our yoga?"

House had reached out for the sash on her robe and was playing with the end of it. He was distracted by his sulking, she noted, and not fully engaged in her questioning.

"Don't deflect," she said as she carefully stretched her leg over his so that she could straddle him on the chair.

He watched her settled in and moved his hands along her thighs as the robe opened to expose her skin.

"There's credence to it," he answered. "The foundational concept is solid until it gets distorted by religious ideology, but there's something to it in traditional Chinese medicine."

"So you think darkness and light aren't contrary forces, but actually complimentary?" She asked as her hands caressed his shoulders and biceps.

"They are interdependent," he said. "Interconnected in the natural world."

He looked down at her hands as they moved along his chest.

"Dualities make up this concept, right?" She asked as her hands slid lower down his abdomen.

There was a hint of a grin on his face when he looked at her. "Are we going to have another life lesson through sex?"

"Answer the question," she demanded, though she fought a grin. As crazy as it seemed, they did seem to work through an emotional DDX better when sex was involved.

"Yes," he answered as his fingers slid beneath the flap of her robe. "The things that appear to be opposing forces are often physical manifestations of the yin-yang."

"That means that hot and cold, liquid and fire, and even male and female interact as separate parts to create a greater whole." She slid her hand beneath the waistband of his pants and cupped his growing erection.

"That was quick," she teased and squeezed him.

"I thought we were exercising the rise of the yang."

She ran her palm along his shaft. "Maybe we are."

His eyes became heated as he began to untie the knot of her sash.

"Inyo is a dynamic system of shadow and light," he said. "Like sunlight playing over a mountain and valley."

His fingers slid along the seams at the opening of the robe.

"Yin is the dark area hidden by the mountain, and yang is the lit portion," he continued to explain. "As the sun moves across the sky, yin and yang gradually trade places, obscuring what was revealed, and revealing what was obscured."

He pushed her robe open to bare her breasts to him.

"Two aspects of a single reality," she said, watching the desire descend on his features.

"Mmmm," he hummed as she freed his erection from the loose, yet constricting fabric. He shifted beneath her and she braced her legs on the crossbars of the chair so she could move with him.

"They flow together," she said. "In a natural cycle."

He watched the movement of her breasts and gripped her hips as she lifted slightly to slide her heat along the tip of his prick.

"Like the ebb and flow of the tides," she said, barely remembering to make her point as she moved against him. "Moving in and out, bringing parts of the sea to the shore and taking parts of the shore out to sea."

"Yes," he ground out.

He cupped her breasts and moved his thumbs along her nipples in a rhythm that matched the pulse between her legs.

Cuddy forced herself to focus.

"What if you fought that natural movement?" She asked.

His head jerked up and his eyes sought hers. He was not completely roused from the haze of arousal, but he sensed she was telling him something important. She could see it in the way his eyes searched her expression, in the way they moved along her face as if deciphering a code.

"What if you determined to stay in the shadows?"


	29. Chapter 29

_This is for Gaia, my welcome nudge!_

_Disclaimer: This is Huddy Yin-Yang sex, no hookers required. Obviously not connected with Shore._

"You can't."

House was still, watching and waiting.

Cuddy ran her hands along his chest. "It's impossible?"

"In theory you could try to chase the shadows," he answered. His voice was heavy and husky. "But it would only divert normal evolution and upset the entire balance of the ecosystem."

"It would stunt growth? Destroy the health of …"

"Your idea of sex talk is a real turn off," House interrupted with a bite in his tone. He moved beneath her, shifting her away from him. She held him tight. There was no way she would allow him to withdraw just because he was feeling uncomfortable.

"Don't," she said.

Cuddy cupped his jaw, drawing him back to her. She was actually encouraged by his reaction. He was feeling defensive, sensitive even, which could only mean the pieces were coming together in his mind and hitting a little too close to home. He was beginning to understand the metaphor and not sure what to do with it, where to go with it.

She captured his lips with hers, seeking and demanding a response. She was surprised he kissed her with such fervor, a deep, soulful and hungry kiss. She could feel the raw desire to lose himself in her, to meld so completely with her he'd lose that sense of helplessness that was nipping away at his confidence in what they shared. She could taste his need to hold on to her and regain the balance he believed was lost. Their tongues sparred. Hers battled for position; his sought to control.

His fingers ran through her hair and his hands cupped her head, holding her to him as his mouth became desperate and devouring. She could feel his urgency, the drive to dominate. It was in the thrust of his tongue and the pressure of his lips. It was there in his touch as his hands slid down her back and cupped her hips. There was an underlying aggression in his grip as if he were struggling to hang on to something while at the same time fighting his need for it. He was frustrated and angry, afraid of losing, terrified of being lost.

Cuddy wanted to soothe him, to reassure him. She wanted to provide the safety that was so often found within the strength of their embrace. But that wasn't what he needed. He couldn't keep hanging on to the past. He couldn't demand everything remain the same in a shifting universe. The old coping mechanisms weren't working in this new season. He was in a new place, a new emotional space. The shift had already happened when they committed to this relationship. He could try to remain still, to stop the natural movement, but it would only cause him pain and change nothing. There was a part of him that would exist in the frame of his own personal individual nature, a part of him that would not be moved or shifted with the passing of time, the seasons of life or the battles he faced. But the larger part of him would need to accept the constancy of change, the certainty of the unbroken circle of connected polarities. The only way to prevent the return of misery he felt pursuing him, the fear of pain and loss that was overtaking him, was to allow the transition, to find the balance in his own stillness within the state of movement. He could not resist the natural cycle.

Cuddy reluctantly broke free and leaned back slightly so she could reach between them and position him against her. He moved his jaw down her neck and to her collarbone until she slid him along her moist heat. He moaned and dropped his head against her.

"I've always been interested in yin-yang," she said, knowing she needed to set-up her point while she still had a few brain cells working.

"Cuddy," he warned, his body growing taut, his shoulders growing tense as he pulled away even as his hips pushed toward her seeking to be close.

She eased over him, taking in only the very tip of his cock.

"God!" He gasped as she stretched and contracted.

She agreed with that sentiment. He was slick and hard, and the sensation of him so gradually entering her was spine-tingling. There was something startlingly intense about experiencing the connection with such slow deliberation.

"Two parts of a whole," she whispered.

He tightened his hold on her thighs, urging her down. She resisted. He lifted his hips in an effort to fill her, but she braced herself at just the right level to prevent the movement. She could feel the walls at her core begin to convulse and ripple along the shallow penetration as she instinctively sought to pull him deeper. She fought the desperate need of her body to have the aching emptiness filled. Instead she rolled her hips, circling the tip of him in a smooth, fluid movement. His head fell back and an expression as tortured as ecstatic washed over him.

House tried to thrust again. She pushed up from her feet, pulling away from him again.

"Don't," he said between clenched teeth. His body trembled beneath her as he sought to maintain the connection that was just barely there between them. If they didn't stay perfectly in sync, they would lose the connection. If they didn't start moving toward each other in the natural rhythm and passion of their bodies, this intense pleasure would shift to pain.

Cuddy maintained her footing and remained as still as she could. Her body trembled from the pressure of withholding her own desires. She was growing weak and her thoughts were growing hazy. A thin layer of sweat covered his brow and the flush down his neck was deepening. They hovered in the space beyond desire, but far from completion. It was impossible to maintain her balance on this precipice. She was barely breathing from the exertion it was taking. She grabbed his shoulders and looked down at him.

His eyes were a stormy cerulean blue, unguarded and intense. He could easily take command of the situation, push her back against the table and take her with the full force of the passion so evident in his stare. Instead, he waited and watched. He took in the full experience even though it was not what he wanted. He was restraining himself with a strength that pushed his entire body to the limit of endurance. It was an intriguing and curious response to say the least.

"You're killing me," he groaned.

She was killing herself and she wasn't even sure why.

"What do you want?" Her voice was husky, heavy from the pressure she was placing on her body.

"You."

"You have me," she whispered.

"I want to be inside you," he said.

Cuddy was breathing heavy. Her heart was pounding in her chest and ears.

"You are inside me," she ground out.

His nostrils flared and his expression grew wild. He drew in a deep breath and thrust again, but she was positioned too high up for him to gain further access from that angle.

"Stop resisting," he demanded.

And his eyes locked with hers.

The air around them was pressurized. She thought they would both hyperventilate.

She felt his hands move and waited, bracing herself for the impact when he would take charge and shift the weight of balance between them. Instead, he cupped her breasts and grazed her nipples with his thumbs.

His eyes roved over her, tracing the way the robe fell off her shoulders, hanging from her elbows and draping around her. He watched his hands move on her breasts and the pulse that beat at her neck. There was a certain irony in the way he became more intent and focused while her vision was becoming blurred.

Cuddy felt a surge shoot through her from the sensitive nerves of her nipples to the center of her being. He had such an understanding of her body, of how and where to touch her for maximum effect. He was relentless; drawing out her passion, ensuring every nerve in her body had a heightened awareness of him. His ability to coax her to the brink with a light touch and such an easy transition of movement…

"You a so beautiful," he said.

Cuddy tried to focus. The movement of his hands and the beat of their arousal were sending tremors along her spine, creating flutters at the junction of her thighs. It was driving her insane, forcing the need to writhe and seek her orgasm.

"House, please," she said, rising up and sliding down on him again.

He sucked in air through his lips and quickly grabbed her hips again. He held her so tight she was sure there would be bruising.

"Not yet."

She watched as he closed his eyes and ground his teeth, willing his body to hold on a little longer. But why? She was ready. He was ready.

"You're a part of me," he said, his voice soft and raspy.

Her muscles tightened around him as she began to pant. He groaned. She bit her lip trying to fight the sounds of pleasure and frustration that threatened to escape.

"You're a part of me" he said again, and pushed into her as deep as he could go. He was fully inside her and she fully encompassed him. They became one, sharing the same heartbeat, experiencing a unity of coordination in the melding together. In the stillness there was movement, and yet as they both began to slowly move – in and out, together and apart – there was a spiritual stillness that surrounded them.

"You're my seed of light in darkness," he whispered, as they maintained a steady, measured pace. If he were to thrust harder, he'd stake claim and possess her. If she increased the pressure and rode him harder, she would have command of him. As it were, they moved with equality in a natural ebb and flow. "Yin yang."

She ran her fingers through his hair and along his jaw, savoring the expression of peace and wonder.

"I get it," he said.

Cuddy leaned forward to kiss him again, deep and lingeringly. The movement of their lips and tongues moved with the same fluidity and connectivity as their hips.

He gently pressed his hand against her shoulder, easing her back so he could look at her again, so he could watch her.

"I get it too," she responded and leaned back even farther, bracing her arms against the table behind her as she continued to move with him.

His fingers moved over her and reached her clit.

"House," she gasped, knowing she would be unable to prevent the immediate onslaught of her orgasm.

"I'm with you," he said.

She couldn't say how long it took, minutes or seconds, but her movements began to quicken and his began to strengthen. He thrust hard and she pulled him in. They moved faster and harder and as she exploded into ribbons of color and light, she felt him spilling into her as he called out her name.

[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]

He was sitting on the back porch.

When she had reached out for him and found the bed empty, she'd immediately went to search for him. It was too early for him to be up. It was early for her. They should still be in bed, snuggled in each other's arms, especially since they hadn't been asleep for long. They had spent hours making love, not giving in to sleep until the wee hours of the morning.

Cuddy smiled at the memory. She was exhausted. Her muscles were sore and stretched, her skin tender and raw from his beard, and she had no complaints at all. She'd take a night of marathon sex with House over just about anything right now.

"Hey," she said as she sat down beside him on the step to the porch.

"Hey," he answered, genuinely surprised to see her up.

She opened up the blanket she'd picked up once she realized he was outside. The air was a little brisk. Not cold, but certainly too chilly to be wearing only a t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

"You okay?" she asked, wrapping the blanket around them both as she curled up beside him.

His arms encircled her, drawing her into the warmth of his body.

"I can't remember the last time I've seen a sunrise," he said.

Cuddy looked out into the distance. The orange hue was only just breaking the night sky, revealing only the outline of the surrounding landscape.

She couldn't remember when she'd last appreciated a sunrise. She was up for them quite frequently, but she was always focused on her morning, on the task at hand. As they sat quietly together, the minutes ticking by, the night transformed to day. The stars seemed to vanish as orange pushed away the dark blue, as pink outlined the clouds yellow filtered in a spectrum across the sky. The outline of the trees and city scape became detailed images beneath the light of the morning.

"It really is beautiful," she said.

His hand idly caressed her arm as they continued to stare into the horizon.

"I don't know how to be happy," he said.

Cuddy thought it came out of the blue, but then quickly realized he was thinking about their conversation from last night. He was watching the sunrise, looking to nature for the answers to his soul questions.

"Does anybody?"

"They seem to," he said. "You seem to."

"Not always," she admitted. "I have been known to mistake pleasure for happiness."

"I am that good," he arrogantly quipped. Cuddy chuckled.

"So you believe in the bullshit of happiness coming from within?"

She shook her head at the underlying belittlement in his question and then answered. "It comes from shoes."

He grinned. "Those do-me pumps do something for me too. Especially when they're all you are wearing."

Cuddy grinned and took his hand in hers, weaving their fingers together.

"Hear me out before you mock me," she said, and felt him nod as he moved his chin down to rest on her shoulder.

"I think I do believe happiness comes from within," she admitted. "I think we find pleasure in tastes and experiences, in objects and all kinds of external stimuli. And because it feels good, we believe we're happy. But then when the pleasure disappears we're miserable again. I think the happiness we really seek is constant. It doesn't depend on pleasure, but on an internal awareness. I think happiness is actually the kind of peace and contentment that will remain even when there's no pleasure…even when there's pain."

"You can't be at peace when you're in pain," he argued.

Cuddy couldn't disagree with him. After experiencing the level of pain she had in the hospital, she understood how it became all-encompassing, blinding.

"I think that's where hope comes into play."

"Hope is for sissies."

She rolled her eyes and looked at him over her shoulder. "Only if you're using it as an excuse not to live in the now, if you use it as a reason not to move as you wait for hope to become real," she said. "It's like that African tribe that can't be imprisoned or they die. They can't see beyond the present. It's all there is so they believe that's how it will always be and they can't accept it so they die. But if they had hope for a future, hope of a difference, they'd live."

"Live imprisoned."

Cuddy shook her head, feigning extreme patience and tolerance, but she was amused at his commitment to pessimism. She turned to look at him.

"You're a hypocrite," she said.

His eyes widened in shock, and he sputtered "What?"

"You say you don't believe in hope but if you didn't you would have given up a long time ago," she said. "You would have given in to pain, you wouldn't have given us a chance and you wouldn't be sitting here watching a sunrise searching for the answers to happiness."

She poked him in the chest. "You have pessimistic vision with optimistic actions," she said. "Even worse, you speak misery, but move with faith."

He scowled at her. "You are truly delusional."

She smiled and turned to settle back in against him.

"You can't be serious!" He was truly appalled at her theory. "It's like you don't know me at all."

"I know you, House," she assured him. "You're an ass."

She grabbed his wrist and wrapped his arm around her and pulled the blanket over them again with her other hand.

"You think you're better than me because you've become a cliché," his words were biting, but he was grumbling, almost pouting. "You had your near death experience and decided to live every day like you're dying. You're a bad country song."

She smiled and curled into him.

"I love you."

He grunted.

"You're going to stop and smell the roses, and say you don't sweat the small stuff," he said. "But you'll be worrying in your office and wallowing in your guilt sooner than you think. Life will suck the joy right out of you."

"But I'll come home to the love of my life," she dramatically replied. "Brooding and pouting, angry at the world and frustratingly sexy. You'll challenge and support me, mock me for being weak and tease me for trying to buy happiness with my cleavage. You'll make me laugh and give me multiple orgasms… I'll be happy."

House was quiet and still; Cuddy was determined not to turn to see if he was okay. She was not going to worry if she'd gone too far, if he was angry or upset. She was going to let him figure it out for himself, just like she was doing.

"Cuddy?" He finally asked. "I don't regret choosing you."

She smiled.

"But you're a pain in the yin yang."

"


End file.
